Memories
by the-angry-blob
Summary: He's stuck in the middle of something he'd rather not get caught up in. Well, more like a lot of things. Not that he really had the choice of being here in the first place. Not that he had the choice to damn himself to hell and take everyone with him. But oh, he wishes he could. Slight use of OC's. Rated because of swears.
1. Chapter 1

**New story? Why the fuck not!**

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I hated holidays. It was just another excuse for people to not work. Like there were actually any people around that still believed in religion enough to make holidays for it. Seriously, if they wanted to work less, they could just make weekends longer. I'm certainly up to the idea.  
But of course, God hates my sorry ass, so holidays exist and I have to spend Christmas with the other Arcobaleno.

Now Uni is rather nice and it is not possible to hate Uni because she is so adorable. And I rather enjoy Christmas with Uni because she bakes the most wonderful cookies. But the problem exists because she invites the other Arcobaleno. Which includes Reborn. And Collonello. I shudder at the thought. Lord have mercy, those two are horrible. They're like Spartans. But ten times as worse.

I take a deep breath before knocking at the door to the little 'house'. Why the hell Aria built a villa in the middle of fucking Russia, I will never know. But hey, at least no one can find us here.  
I'm almost prepared to kick the fucking door down, because it is snowing. And I am cold. Living in the middle of Italy for the past, I don't know, thirty-five years, makes you not really used to this kind of thing. I waited for a good ten seconds before loosing my shit. Which is long, considering my attention span. I gave the door a good kick, not enough to break it, but enough to make a lot of noise. "Will someone please open this fucking door? I am freezing you fuckers!"

Uni flung the door open. Oh shit. OH GOD FUCKING SHIT DAMN IT. FUCK MY LIFE. "Hi Skull!"  
Lord bless her soul. She actually seemed genuinely happy to see me. "Uh you didn't hear any of that, did you?"  
I can't have Uni learning bad words. Luce would kill me in the after life a thousand times over if I ever made it to heaven. She tilts her head to the side in the way only she could pull off. "Hear what?"  
I muttered a prayer. Thank the Lord. I swear I'll never skip church again. I smiled. "Oh nothing. Its nice to see you after such a long time."

She giggled and gave me a hug, which I was more than happy to return. "Now, lets go inside, shall we? It's freezing."  
I point my thumb inside and she nods. So I bring my bag in and shut the door behind me. Fon popped his head out of the kitchen. He smiled and gave a little nod of a greeting, before dashing back to whatever he was doing, his braid trailing behind him. I shrugged to myself. At least Fon acknowledged my existence as a human being. Moving on. I gave a quick glance around. Nothing had really changed much since last year. Though the room feels different. I stare at the wall long enough to realize someone had changed the wallpaper. I think it was green last year… well know it's like bluey purple. But the really pale kind. Lavender? Eh, don't have enough fucks to give.

I sigh and take off my coat and scarf, and leave them on the rack…thing. I usually threw my stuff on the couch, but I still didn't know if Reborn was here or not and I certainly wasn't taking that chance. I put my bag neatly next to the kitchen door way and take off my shoes. "So what are you making?"  
I call out to Fon as I step in. He smiles. "I've got some dumplings getting ready, and I'm making some green tea. Want some?"  
He holds a cup of devil piss in my direction, and I put my hands up. "Uh, no thanks. You know I won't ever give in to drinking that stuff."  
He laughs and puts the cup down. "Had to try. Say, you go upstairs and freshen up, alright? Verde, Viper and the military dorks are also home."

I grin and pick up my bag. "Should I tell them you called them that?"  
He rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't."  
"Maybe I would. Just saying." I call out, dashing up the stairs. Reborn was here yet. Maybe I could hide under my bed until after he sleeps off the jet lag. He was scary when he tired. Not that he wasn't scary anyway. The carpeting on the stairs muted my feet. Was that there before? I can't remember. Not that it really mattered. I walked through the long hallway. Damn, which room was mine? I knocked on the first door to my left.

Only to have it opened by a shirtless blonde mess. Oh god. OH GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. I backed off immediately and tried to leg it, but Collonello caught me easily. I could literally hear him grin. He swung an arm around my poor thin neck and gave me a noogie. "Skull! Buddy, where you been? Kora!"  
Don't let him fool you. Behind that friendly attitude is a Spartan. I dropped my bag and desperately tried to get his arm off of me. "Let go, let go, let go! You're choking me, OWWWW!"  
I tried kicking him, but fuck it, he was a better assassin than I was. He laughed. "You ain't getting away that easy Skull! I haven't seen you in a year!"

The door to our right flew open, and a very, _very_ angry woman appeared. Even Collonello froze for a moment. "Who the fuck is making so much noise?"  
In the door way, stood the other military dork. Except of course, Lal was ten times more vicious than Collonello, and we were basically fucked. Though if the situation were different I would have taken a moment to appreciate her very, very short shorts. But the situation is not different and I should really stop avoiding it now.

Both Collonello and I simultaneously point our fingers at each other. Somehow, that only makes Lal even angrier. "Stand up straight!" We let go of each other and both immediately stick our arms to the sides and got into form. Lal paused for a moment, before giving Collonello a straight kick to the balls. He screamed and fell to the floor clutching his most precious part. I flinched. Then, Lal turned to me and I froze. OH GOD I'M NEXT. OH GOD WHY.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Though that didn't make it hurt any less. I yelped and clutched my poor crotch. I curled up into a ball. "Ow..."  
I heard the door slam, indicating that Lal had gone back to her bitch cave. I rolled over; hands holding my poor, poor manhood; and grimaced at Collonello. He was twitching horribly. I don't think he's going to be walking anytime soon. Did she kick him harder? Maybe. Though I highly doubt Lal would show mercy to me. But hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever the fuck that meant.

I got up, slowly, and hobbled over to get my bags. Fuck this shit, I was taking the last door in the hallway, as far away from every insane person in this building, self not included. Hobbling my way over, I pushed the door handle down with my elbow. I frowned and pushed back. "Come on…"  
I saw Collonello still trembling on the floor. Ouch. The door opened while I wasn't looking and I fell back. Well that was painful. "Fuck my life…" I rubbed the back of my head, and stuck my feet up, using them to push in my bags and close the doors. Too in pain to give any fucks. I stayed there for a good half hour. So it seemed that the carpeting was actually very soft. Not bad.

I sighed and forced myself up after a while. Looking around, the room wasn't actually all that bad. Though I had a feeling the good ones were already snatched. Not that I was complaining.

The color theme was a brown apparently. Dark mahogany furniture, with a beige and chocolate everything else. I didn't pay too much attention to it. But damn, I could seriously use some chocolate right now. I unpacked my bags into the closet. There were an awful lot of rooms in this place. Maybe, Uni used this place as a back up for the Giglio Nero. Whatever.

I looked at the little clock on the drawer: 2 o'clock. Something tells me that I may or may not have been out for more than thirty minutes. Whatever. I change out of my clothes. The air was cold on my skin. Seems the walls couldn't keep out the frost. I slipped into some comfortable clothes, before putting on a sweater as an after thought. Hmm, much warmer. I leave my room, locking the door behind me, and walk cautiously downstairs. Collonello had retreated back to his cave of stupidity after his humiliating defeat.  
Wonder what else is new.

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**The first chapters are always short, haha. Review are nice, thank you very much :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay! Chapter two! I actually liked writing this, because it wasn't hurried, and I didn't have to force myself either. Here, we step just a little bit deeper into the plot. **

**Enjoy.**

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I hid behind the wall, poking my head out ever so slightly. The hallway was clear, thank God. The dining room was on the other side of the hall. If I could get there before Reborn saw me, maybe I'd survive. He doesn't like fighting at the dinner table.

But what if he was using his camouflage again? That was dangerous. He might as well be right next to me. I turned my head just to make sure. Nope, no one there. Okay, I'm moderately fast. Maybe I could just leg it. Okay Skull, you can do this. Yeah! I'm the Master Commander! I can totally do this! Reborn can kiss my ass!

I made a dash for it, and just as I did, someone shot at my feet. I cried out and jumped up just in time. I turned to my left, to see my impending doom. Reborn was walking down the stairs casually, holding a regular pistol in his hand, dressed rather nicely for a simple dinner. Oh, and he was frowning. Nothing good happens when he frowns. "You were thinking aloud earlier."

DAAAAAAAAAMN IT. I have no idea which part he heard, but the last was the one I was most concerned about. I did a verbal keyboard smash. "Dasfdhkfjg… ha?"

He frowned even more and tipped his hat up so I could get the full weight of the glare. "Retard."

And then all of a sudden he's right behind. Before I can even turn around, he slaps the back of my head so hard I fly forward a few feet. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

He mumbles something I can't hear before disappearing into the dining room, and I stalk in after him, taking the seat as far away from him as possible. Fon came in bearing the last of the dishes, and took his place next to Reborn. So now that everyone was seated, Uni clapped her hands together. "Now let us thank the Lord for this meal."

And then she forced everyone to hold hands. I scowled, but complied anyway. Lal nearly broke my right hand, while Viper kept his barely hovering over mine. He wasn't one for physical contact anyway.

After that, I kind of stopped paying attention. Though dinner seemed to taste good, I didn't really care. Verde stayed silent pretty much, aside from making snarky remarks about how Reborn's sideburns defy physics. Fon silently nodded his head here and there as he listened to Uni chatter. Viper brought out several wads of money and began sorting them silently, nibbling on his pasta and smiling at the growing stack of hundreds. Collonello was telling some strange story and Lal was giving a good punch here and there for getting parts wrong.

My eyes wandered the other occupants of the room, before determining that they are all fucking insane. I think I came to that conclusion with in a half second. Probably less.

I rolled my eyes, and took my plate into the kitchen, before dumping it into the dishwasher and closing the door with my feet. I was still kind of hungry though. My feet found themselves walking towards the fridge, my one true love. She is the only one that understands me.

I need a life.

I look in. Vegetables, jars of things I don't know, and is that a foot? Probably one of Verde's experiments. I push that to the side and tilt my head, trying to see if I could find some sort of imaginary dessert from this angle. And I did, on the shelf below it. My hands shoved the unnecessary pile of vegetable out of the way, and grabbed that sweet plate of pie. Half of it was already gone, but who cares. And, _Oh Sweet Lord! _It was blueberry with whipped cream on top. My favorite.

I cut off about half of the heavenly treat and shoveled it onto a plate, before putting the rest back in the fridge. Taking my fork, I shoved a rather generous amount into my waiting mouth, and who cares how dirty that sounds because _dear GOD!_ This is heavenly. I almost twirled back upstairs to my room in pure joy. I love my pie.

I locked the door behind me for good measure. Last time I checked, Collonello had strange nighttime sparring habits. I put my plate down on my bed; I walked over to the closet, to get my bag. I crouched down and peered inside, using my hands to get down to the bottom, and sure enough, the clasped around a familiar checkered box. It was small enough to fit in both hands. I lifted it out and walked back onto my bed, and opened it, taking out the mini chess pieces and setting them up on the board. My stomach requested more food, and I am surely not one to disappoint. Mmm, pie.

Ah, I forgot my notebook. I went back to my bag and pulled it out and grabbed a pen as well. Sitting down properly, I began to move the little pieces, scribbling down into my book, and occasionally crossing things out. My brows furrowed in concentration, and I took another bite of pie.

Someone knocked on my door. I sighed and dropped my notebook down next to the empty plate, before heaving myself off of the bed and going over to open the door. Verde appeared, his usual scruffy self, minus the lab coat. He rubbed the back of his neck like the socially awkward fuck he is. "Uni asked you to come downstairs."

"Okay."

Verde was surprisingly tolerable when he wasn't in the middle of one of his experiments. As we were walking downstairs, I looked down for a moment and apparently, **Verde wears bunny slippers. **I am not allowed to laugh, but _holy crap,_ I was not expecting this. I bite down on my lip in a silent grin to stop the laughs from coming out. Somehow, I manage to make to the end of the staircase, but then of course, they squeaked.

I literally fell down clutching my stomach, laughing like there's no tomorrow. He turns around and frowns, like he hasn't got a clue. "Why are you laughing? Get up."

I sit up on my arms and grin, keeping back a few stray giggles. "Why? Are you blind or something? You're wearing squeaky bunny slippers, Verde!" I wave my hand in the general direction of the offending footwear.

He rolled his eyes. "They're comfortable and don't get dirty, so I don't care. Now get up."

I did as told, letting out a few snickers despite his frown. Or actually maybe it was _because_ he was mad. He was funny when he was mad.

Uni and the others were all gathered around the fireplace, all warm and cozy, despite the fact that the room was filled with the world's greatest hit men. Uni sat on large, overstuffed chair, her tiny frame only further exaggerated. Reborn sat on the floor in front of Uni, with his hat and coat next to him. I spotted his chameleon, Leon, wrapped up in a little bundle on his lap. Seemed Russian weather didn't suit him that much.

Lal was crouching by the fireplace, poking the logs with an iron. Collonello sat up on a rocking chair, feet up, like the kid he was at heart. Viper was sitting next to him, impatiently waiting for whatever spectacle that was supposed to happen, to happen. Verde sat cross-legged on a pillow next to him.

Fon came in, bearing a tray of teacups and began to pass them around. Uni smiled and clapped her hands. "Now that everyone's here, lets start. Reborn, tell us a story."

Wait, she brought me here for _story time?_ I twitched. It couldn't be helped. She was only ten years old after all. Reborn thought for a moment, stroking Leon gently. Though the image only made me think of those old movies where the villain would sit and pet his weird furry cat of doom. It wasn't that far off actually to what I was seeing. Fon came to me and smiled. "Can I convince you to have some green tea?"

"Hmm, nope."

He simply shook his head and poured me some coffee. Was it too late for coffee? Nah.

He placed the tray on the table and sat quietly next to me. I took a sip as Reborn started his story. Some tale about mythological creatures in Africa. Seemed like complete bullshit to me, and when I said so out loud, Lal smacked me across the face for being 'culturally intolerant'. But he was talking bullshit though. I'd already heard the story a long time ago, and he was telling it wrong, but I let it slip because I'd rather not go to bed with two hand prints on my face, thank you very much.

'Story time' went on for ages, mostly because Uni, being the curious, lovable child that she was, begged for details from everyone. Verde was finishing describing a tale of how when he was younger and had blown up his father's second house, resulting in permanent grounding. And though he didn't mention it, it would also explain why he didn't have a girlfriend. Though I'd poked enough fun at the guy today, so I'd let that slip.

Uni's eyes set on me and she smiled that adorable smile that she always did. "Skull, its your turn now! Tell us a story please!"

I liked telling stories just about as much as I liked hugging jagged rocks. I rubbed the back of my head nervously, and was upset to see an empty coffee cup. There goes my excuse to not talk. "Um, I don't want to tell a story."

The rest of the Arcobaleno sat patiently (and impatiently, in Collonello's case) as Uni continued to pester me. "Come on Skull! Just one story, please! It doesn't have to be anything special."

She paused for a moment. "Why don't you tell about your past? I've always been curious as to how you got your powers."

She smiled and cupped her face in her hands. That _bitch._ This was the first time and the last that I would ever say something like about Uni, mentally or not.

"Uh, I'd rather no-"

Reborn pulls out a regular pistol and points it at my head, since Leon is currently out of commission. "You rather would, actually."

"No, I'd rather not." He seems surprised that I actually stood up to him like that. The others seem more than a little interested by now, and they're all pestering me to tell. Uni just looks at me with these gigantic doe eyes like she's upset, because she _is_ upset that I'm keeping a secret from her. But it's a secret worth keeping so I only harden my gaze and stare right back.

Viper stood up. "If you'd all be quiet, please."

And the group did, Collonello mumbling something I didn't quite catch. It must have been offensive, because Lal almost stabbed his side with her elbow. Viper cleared his throat. "If you pay up, I'd be more than willing to make him talk."

Verde was the first to reply. "I'll put the usual fee in your bank account later." And he had the nerve to yawn and scratch his head and _yawn_, like this wasn't actually a big deal. I gave a look that clearly had _'traitor!' _written all over it.

Viper moved towards me, "Very well then, I'll get started." He lifted up his hand and leaned forward, and I was already having the worst flashback about where'd I'd seen that last. I knew exactly what he was doing, though no else did, and I'd been taught how to counter it. Just as his finger was about to touch the little space between my brows, I grabbed his hand and twisted it backwards until I heard the bones crack and his scream till I was sure I was deaf.

In that moment of panic, I reached out to get his other hand, just to be safe. I can't have him reading my memories. They're mine and mine alone to share. Than all of a sudden there's arms pulling us apart and I'm scrambling and trying to force myself out of the grip but I can't. Viper screams and his hood is tossed back and it seems that _he _is actually a _she_. Everyone screaming and yelling and I don't know what's going on anymore. My vision starts clouding, and I'm panicking and I'm screaming at everyone, but I don't even know what I'm saying.

And then I break free and I run out of the room and upstairs. I can hear someone running after me, but then the footsteps stop and I'm too scared to look back. I slam the door behind me and I lock it twice, just to be sure. And my room is so quiet that all I can hear is my own breathing. Either the yelling stopped or the walls were thick. I couldn't tell anymore.

My knees go weak and I almost collapse onto the floor. I make my way to the bathroom, holding onto furniture to keep myself steady. I leave the door open behind me because movement is starting to hurt. Its hurts to get everything off and get in the tub. And I settle for just sitting down on the tub floor with the water drumming on my back because standing is taking too much effort. The water was cold, but my skin still felt like it was burning.

Minutes pass, and I lie down because I'm tired. The water is cold on my torso, and I think I might freeze like this, but even so, I was burning up. If I opened my eyes and squinted I could see steam coming up. My hand reached up to turn the knob, making the water colder.

I close my eyes and rest my head back. I hear a familiar humming in the back of my head, and the voice speaks. It's Luce. I don't know if her ghost is haunting me or if she's just a wandering spirit that likes to check in.

_Why did you run away from them like that?_

I'm not ready. I can't tell them; I can't even tell myself. You know why.

_They have to know Skull. It'd better if you told them before someone else did._

I frowned. Why don't you tell them if you think they should know?

I can almost hear her smile. Its nostalgic and its sickening and its making my chest hurt.

_It's not my story to tell._

I try to retort, but the humming is gone. I feel cold now. I touch my skin just to make sure. I feel empty as well, but that was a feeling that came and went every now and then. I think I might be insane.

I keep the towel on my head and close the door behind me. I pulled out some clothes and put them on slowly. My body seemed to ache everywhere. I winced when I tried to put on my shirt. I threw it to the side. Not tonight. I'm just about to collapse on the bed when I realize. I freeze, stiff as a board. "Viper?"

I hear a familiar sigh, and he, no _she,_ seems to materialize next to the door. I widen my eyes in shock. Was she watching me _change clothes?_

Like always, she seemed to read my mind. "Relax, I closed my eyes."

I only glare. "Isn't it to a stupid idea to sneak into someone's room right after they break your hand?"

She sighs and walks closer. "I'm just here to ask a few questions."

I take a step backward and sit on the bed, still weary. Time to change the topic. "Didn't Uni forbid you from using illusions?"

She smirked. "What Uni doesn't know won't hurt her. Now, as I was saying."

Fuck, guess this was unavoidable after all.

"You recognized the technique I was using. Now that made me curious as to how you did. After all, aren't you _supposed_ to be a stuntman?"

I give her a glare in reply. "I'm not answering any questions until you take off your hood."

She pursed her lips. "It'll cost you."

I cross my arms. "I'll pay you with answers."

"Fine." She lifts her hand up and lowers her hood.

I get a good look at her for the first time. She had slightly purplish hair, though I'd always known that from the stray locks that slipped out of her hood. But she had these horrifyingly pale eyes. I would compare them to the sky, but they were _so fucking pale._ And they stood out, despite the bad lighting. "Sit down, will you."

It takes me an effort to not let my voice shake.

God, she looked like she possessed by Satan or something. Hell, maybe she was half the time. You could never be sure.

She plopped down next to me and sat cross-legged on the bed. "Now as for my questions, how did you know what I was doing?"

I frown a little. Like Luce said, they would all find out eventually. "Someone used it on me before. I know how it works."

She raised an eyebrow. "When it almost started to work, I saw something."

I let my eyes wander round a little. Nope, no eye contact now. "Yeah, I know. I'm the one that had the memory forced out."

She glared and crossed her arms. "You're not being helpful."

I glared right back at her. "Did you think I would cooperate willingly?"

She sighed, after a moment. "We're getting nowhere. Now if you don't mind, my other hand is still fine."

It took me a moment to understand what she jut meant, and then another two to actually react.

"G-give me a moment to get my thoughts in tact."

She noticed the obvious stutter; I could tell; but didn't say anything. I took a deep breath. Remember. Remember back to the time when I was little, where all the memories are cloudier than the sky above. I shivered. "Okay, I'm ready."

She nodded. Her finger lifted up and I clenched my fists to make sure I didn't hurt her again. My eyes focused on like everything was in slow motion. Her finger was still a few inches away, but I could the gears turning and my mind fading back into some kind of soft mushy goo.

And then her finger made contact and we both remembered.

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**Ah! This was so much fun. I wrote this over a week or so, and on the final night when I had to go to bed I got so excited because I only had just a little bit left to write. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did! **

**Oh and next chapter will be the beginning of the memories, haha. Things will be a little confusing now, but they'll be explained later.**

**Reviews are sexy little things. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello Everyone! So sorry for the delay. I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter, because this is a very unexciting chapter. Or for me, at least. You all get your first taste of backstory! XD It is doesn't read properly, don't worry. Just keep reading, you'll find out soon.**

**Oh, and I had Bruno Mars 'Run Away' on the whole time I was writing this. I was too busy singing along to actually write anything XD  
**

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It was cold. Very cold.

The toddler curls under the cover of his bed. Short tiny puffs of breath came out, but his lungs felt like they were burning nonetheless. It was strange how he felt hot and cold at the same time. But he kept his blanket on, because mother had told him so. Something felt very wrong about everything. He was too small to understand the problems his mother had. He was too small to understand the problems his father had. But he could see the lines of worry pile high on their forehead. Whenever they carried him (which they rarely did nowadays), he'd always reach up and try to touch their faces, to try and make the lines go away, but they'd get angry.

He was very cold. Curling into a little ball, he pulled the blankets tighter around himself. Even in such a big house, he felt cold.

Maybe he couldn't understand adult problems, but he knew. He knew that something wasn't right when mother left home with another man. He knew something wasn't right when father came home with another woman. He wanted to say something, to tell them to stop, but words were harder than he thought. He started crying, just a little. But father hit him when he cried. Father didn't like him, even though he loved father so much. It made him sad.

He buries his face into his pillow and hugs the little stuffed toy; an octopus. It was very cold when both his parents were busy.

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James was only a year old when his father took him to a room. It was dusty and dark and he didn't like it one bit. But father hated it when he said anything, anything that even managed to come out of his mouth. He was forced to sit on a weird chair in the middle of the room. He tried moving a bit but he couldn't. And like the child he was, he started to get scared. "Papa, papa, no…"

There were still lots of words that he had to learn.

His father started saying weird things that he didn't understand. It wasn't the normal kind of things that his father said. It was different. Very different. He started screaming because all of a sudden, everything just started hurting. He screamed for his mother, but she wasn't home now. He saw all these weird colors right in his eyes and then everything started fading out into white. He couldn't see for a while after that.

And when he could, all he could see was his father grin a little, before letting little James run out of the room crying.

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The first time he died was two hours after that incident. It was an accident; a mistake. A result of a spell cast too soon, too weakly. A spell that was imperfect, that was harmful.

He was still crying into his blanket when his body started feeling really hot. And then everything started hurting and he was screaming and then everything blacked out. He didn't understand what it was, but it hurt. And when he woke up later it was morning. He didn't understand what had happened until much, much later.

He burst into a fit of sobbing, but no one came in to comfort him.

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He lifted his hand very slowly, painfully almost, to remove Viper's finger from his forehead. The moment the contact was gone and let out a huge sigh of relief. He'd almost forgotten how painful the procedure could be. He hung his down and simply gasped for air. The pain had felt so _real_, almost like he was being forced to go back through the same horrifying process all over again. His entire body was covered in a sheet of cold sweat. It took him more than a few moments to recover from that.

Viper waited patiently. Perhaps she was a bitch of the highest level, but she knew better than to pester him with questions just yet. She waited until he looked back up at her with a questioningly look. "Satisfied with what you saw?"

A gentle nod was enough to make him smile just a little bit; perhaps in relief that he wouldn't have to do that again. And Viper could understand where he was coming from; the technique put extreme strain on both the mind and body, because it forced the memory to be relived.

"So basically, your father experimented his magic on you?"

He nodded. "He was the Carcassa's head illusionist, but kind of like you, the fucker dabbled in other places as well. And so yes, that's how I recognized the technique."

Viper hummed in response. The memories he showed her were strange, and out of place. It was possible for him to show her little bits of memories from different times, yes, but something was very, very wrong. She couldn't quite place her finger on it. She thought for a moment, analyzing the memories that Skull (or should she call him James now?) had shared for a moment. The memories were missing something. Like they'd been shortened till only the bare necessities were there to tell the story.

"James."

He flinched. Perhaps he didn't quite like that name. Traumatizing childhood and what not. "Yes?"

"Did anyone ever _take away_ your memories? Or shorten them until only this little bit where left?"

He looked away and frowned. Oh God she was onto him. Okay, maybe he could make an excuse instead of giving her the real reason. "Well, I've been alive for quite a God-damn while now. You know, the whole Arcobaleno immortality thing. Anyone could have erased my memory with in that span. And obviously, I wouldn't remember them doing it."

She nodded and hummed, like she was thinking about it hard. They sat there, enveloped in silence for a moment or two. He held his breathe, waiting to see if she'd press on for answers. His knowledge of the dark arts wasn't thorough, but he'd tried to cover as much of the story with out missing any loops that didn't make sense. Though the memories were real; he couldn't fake those.

Viper sighed, before getting up and slipping on her hood again. He let out his breath in relief. She walked towards the door and he was just about to fall back and go to sleep straight away, when she spoke again. "Should I tell the others?"

"No. Not yet."

"You can't keep them waiting forever." She sighed, barely loud enough for him to hear. "Sleep in tomorrow. I'll wake up before you and tell the others I wiped your memory of last night. Make sure you act it."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him.

"And next time, make sure you give me the real story."

And then she walked right out and closed the door behind her before Skull could say anything.

He ended up staring at a closed door. "Fuck."

"Fuck."

He fell back against the pillows, cursing everything he could possibly think of.

Just what had he missed? Was there some kind of trick she had where she could tell when he was lying? How was he supposed to sleep like this?

He turned over and buried his face into the pillow. Fuck everything.

* * *

I was so tired and almost rolled my way downstairs. Then I tripped and actually _did_ roll my way down the rest of the stairs, and didn't even have the energy to care or complain. I was lying on my face until I felt someone nudge my side with what felt like a foot. I decided to ignore it, but that decision seemed to be my impending doom. The foot kicked me nice and hard, and my helplessly limp body flew straight into a wall, face first.

I pried my face away from the wall, and turned to face my attacker. Reborn was glaring at me with his arms folded across his chest. "What do you think you're doing, sleeping in so late? We all finished breakfast ages ago."

I yawned, and played my part just how Viper wanted me to. "Well sorry. I was playing on Nintendo late last night."

He growled, before walking over and 'peeling' me off of the wall and throwing me in the general direction of the kitchen. I stumbled onto my feet as I heard him mumble something along the lines of 'Uni' and then disappearing upstairs. I hung onto the wall and slowly walked into the kitchen, in hopes of getting maybe a late breakfast. Goddamn, I am more tired than I should me. Ugh this never happened before. Maybe Viper wasn't as good a magician as I credited her to be.

That, and maybe because Uni had this place magic-proofed.

Whatever.

I wobbled into the kitchen, because walking properly was too much effort. Uni was inside, setting down a plate full of beautiful, beautiful food and a mug of coffee on the table. She smiled when she saw me, but something strange crossed her eyes for a moment. Seemed like she still remembered what happened last night. I felt a twinge of guilt, but kept up my act. "Good morning Skull!"

I returned her smile. "Morning Uni."

She moved away from the table and went to do the dishes, an immensely large pile in the sink. "I made you breakfast."

I rolled my eyes and sat down. I picked my fork and knife, but hesitated. "Do you need any help with those?"

She shook her head. "No, I got this. You just dig in, okay?"

"Um, okay…"

I put up a confused look before turning around and eating. Honestly, Uni was a terrible actor. She wasn't talking too much like normal, and she was avoiding looking me in the eye. Really, I thought she'd picked up a thing or two from me after all this time.

I finished quickly, before getting up and taking my dishes into the sink. I gently nudged Uni aside and she giggled. "I'll take it from here. See, your fingers are wrinkly now."

I lifted her hand up from the bubble filled glob. She smiled. "That's perfectly fine, Skull, I can f-"

"No, you should go take a break. Just when did you wake up anyway?"

She stared at me, before smiling and drying her hands off on a paper towel. "Thanks Skull."

She left the room and I went back to doing the dishes.

Poor girl. She'd spent all night up, and had done a poor make up job on her dark circles. Well, I guess last night must have been pretty shocking… Fuck.

Ugh, I do not want to think about this. Its giving me a headache, and I already had one just a few minutes ago. Motherfucking dishes. Why can't they just clean them fucking selves?

I decided that if I was going to go through this day without breaking anyway, I'd need more sleep. My eyes caught Fon, in all his shirtless not glory, doing his weird Kung fu bullshit outside. I'm not sure whether I should be sickened or impressed. I decide to be sickened, because he is buffer than a Super Saiyan. How the fuck does he hide all that under shirt? And where is his shirt, for fuck's sake? Wondering over the unanswerable wasn't really my thing, so I reached over and tugged the blinds shut. I'd rather not spend the rest of the day puking.

I finished soon after that, putting the dishes back in the cupboards. Honestly, this would have been done a long time ago, but some one had forgotten to install a dishwasher here. Either that, or Reborn was planning on making me do the dishes the whole week. I bet he did. Seemed like something he'd do. Yet another reason to curse Reborn to the depths of Tartarus.

I left the kitchen (good riddance), and lazily wobbled my way into the living room, before collapsing on a plump sofa with far too many cushions. I rolled over a few times before I deemed the piece of furniture worthy of my ass. I buried my face into a heavily embroidered pillow.

"Are you going to die there or what." It was more of a statement than a question, but it was definitely enough to make scream.

"HOLY SHIT!" I fell off of the sofa, flailing my arms. I painfully sat up and glared at the person, Viper, who sat on the chair left of me. She sipped her tea silently, as if the little bitch wanted an answer. She set her tea cup once I actually noticed what's wrong with the picture. Frowning, I sat back up on the couch, leaning forward. "Your hand?"

"Reborn's sun flames."

I nodded. Strange of the bastard to heal someone other than himself, but if meant pretending to hide last night... Than I guess he'd do it. "So, care to ask why you're bothering me?"

She pursed her lips. "You know perfectly why."

* * *

**So uh. That was fun. Short chapter because I'm lazy and I'm slightly not okay as of recently. **

**Reviews are sexy little things.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to Capi-chan for all your help. I was kind of scared that people stopped reading my story. And all these compliments /faints  
This chapter was too easy to write jkshdfjkhdkl. Hope you have fun reading it. Oh, and meet my first OC \(*o*)/**

**Warning: More amounts of swear words than before.  
**

* * *

I stay silent for a moment, staring at the rim of her hood. It had really, really small embroidery that had been tucked in, but my eyes saw a bit sticking out. She waited patiently for me to reply, but I couldn't really. I didn't know how. My eyes trailed downward and followed her jaw line. It wasn't too clear, but she looked just the slightest bit chubby. Almost adorable. Little bits of her hair poked out from behind the hood, dark purple blending it black. I saw a little bit of silver chain, disappearing into her neck line. "Skull."

My eyes shoot back up to meet hers (or where they would be under the hood). I hummed quietly in response. She took that as permission to speak. Though I think she would have talked even if I'd said no.  
Bitch.

"Your memories aren't intact. Either you or someone else have been meddling with them."  
I frowned. As if I didn't already know that. Fuck, I was the one who suggested it. But I didn't have the patience to dwell over the past. "Yes Viper, you told me that already. Now please, get to your fucking point."  
She pursed her lips into an even tighter line. "Well, my _fucking_ point is that I'd like to know who did it, since you certainly couldn't have."

"Sorry, but thats my own fucking business. So _shove the fuck off."__  
_

She twirled her finger in a slow circular motion, and my neck started contracting. I gasped and raised my hands up to my neck, trying to stop whatever was happening. I couldn't breathe. I could feel the bones in my neck start to move slightly beneath my fingers and I panicked. Suddenly, it stopped, and I dropped my hands, gasping for air. I lifted my head up and glared at Viper. "...Bitch..."

She lifted her finger up again threateningly. "It'd do you well to not irritate me. I won't pay for any hospital bills." I didn't say anything for a moment. My neck bones were still popping back into place. Painful as it is, 'immortality' has its perks. "I thought Uni magic proofed the house."  
"Correction: Uni made it much harder to use magic, not impossible." She dropped her hand. "Now as I was saying,"

I'm going to assume that the meddling was intentional. Your day to day life is completely cut out, where as the technique should have brought them all back, high definition and what not. Clearly, someone erased those memories. However, I'm also drawing a conclusion that what you showed me would happen to be the only parts of that time period worth remembering. If there was anything missing that was fairly important at the time, the child you would probably have been thinking of it. And since the child you wasn't, lets simply say that yes, someone erased your memories and left behind only the important things."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest and smirking like she'd just won the lotto. "Tch, who the hell do you think you are, making assumptions like that? Like, I said its none of your business!" I stood up and clenched my fists. She was right. Every god damn word that came out of her mouth was fucking right. Just how much information did I give her? Apparently far too much, if she was able to draw a conclusion like that from the summary of a year's happenings. "Your reaction tells me that I'm right." And the bitch fucking _grinned.__  
_

I tried smiled just a bit, when I remembered. Though I'm sure it came out rather creepy. Her grin dropped for a moment. "Whats so funny?"  
My smile broadened. "You can't simply destroy a memory though, Viper. Thats basic psychic knowledge."  
She stood up, but was still so much shorter than me. "How do you know that?"

"Skull!"

We both turned to see Uni in the doorway, holding the house's wireless phone in her hands. Her fingers were squeezing it so tight I thought the cover might have cracked. Her eyes went all wide and her knees trembled a bit. "P-please remove your hand f-from Viper's collar."  
I turned. Shit, when did this happen. My hand was actually clenched around Viper collar, and I'd lifted her off the ground. She had a rather annoyed look on her face and was using one hand to make sure her hood didn't fall off. I put her back down gently and released my fist, letting it drop back to my side. I looked at Uni, who looked more than a little relieved. "There's a phone for you."

I walked over slowly, and Uni held out the phone for me. Her hands slid back quickly, like she didn't want to touch me. My stomach spiraled with guilt. I quickly walked upstairs to my room, and locked the door behind me. Sweet chocolaty room, I can always trust you. I raised the phone to my as I settled into a plump chair. "Yes, you're speaking to the Immortal Badass, how may I help you?"  
I heard a slight chuckle at the end of the line. "What the hell was all that before?"  
I grinned. Leave it to Gervasio to find a nonexistent phone number. I scratched my head and sighed dramatically. "I'm stuck in a house full of loons."  
"And what about you choking someone?"  
"Friend, my temper is shorter Paolo Rossini's dick."  
And he laughed his strange forty-year old laugh, because Paolo Rossini had the smallest dick in the mafia world. "Come now, Davide. Now isn't the time to make jokes. I wouldn't have called you now if that was the reason." His voice was serious all of a sudden, and it had a grim undertone.

I nibbled lightly at my chain. "No, you wouldn't have."  
He sighed. Clearly this wasn't something that he was going to enjoy. "As you already know, the Rossini are a bunch of scheming bastards. Barely two days ago, they intercepted one of our cargo ships the same night you left."  
I frowned. "They try to do that all the time. Can't we merely take it back like we always do? They're fighting force are no where near as powerful as ours."  
"Let me finish, Skull." I heard him sigh, and I could imagine him, sitting at his desk, trying to rub the lines from his forehead, glasses slipping down his nose. "There were casualties this time. 12 injured, 1 dead."  
My throat tightened a bit. "Who died?" My voice became a little tight. Gervasio paused at the other end of the line before speaking.

"Stephano Cizeta was on the ship. Apparently, he managed to evacuate as many people as possible before getting shot through the head with a sniper."

I stood up. "Oh my God."

Stephano Cizeta. The late Giancarlo Carcassa's right hand man. Most respected underboss in the family. Sixty-five years old and still a gun-slinging, cigar puffing badass. Lived longer than other man I knew with a serious smoking problem. Respect. He was pretty nice too, and he had that old fatherly look about him you couldn't find anywhere else. The man had been more of a father to Gervasio than his own. Spoiled the boy silly, but taught him every god damn thing he knew.  
When I joined the family, he was the only one that grinned and patted my back.

I walked over to the window, looking outside. The other Arcobaleno were having a snowball fight, while Viper hid behind a tree and Verde sat it out patiently with his laptop. Reborn caught my eye for a moment. I drew the curtains shut and retreated back to my seat.

I took a deep breathe to myself. "Were you able to retrieve the body?"  
"Yes. We'll have a funeral first, and then we'll go out for revenge. I think I'll need my right hand with me." I could hear his voice start to become shaky. But he was stronger than that.  
"Gervasio, would it be possible for you to arrange for someone to meet me at the Stolkholm-Arlanda Airport. Tomorrow."  
"I'll have it done." He paused. "So the secret Arcobaleno base is in Sweden? Were you the one to pick?"  
I swallowed nervously. "Thats for another time. Arrivederci, friend."  
"Arrivederci."

I cut the line and set the phone down on the coffee table next to me. "Fuck."  
Falling back against the chair, I squeezed my eyes shut so that all I could see was a blinding roller coaster of colors. Even then, all I could imagine was Stephano was running and shouting at people to get out, before being silenced by a bullet. Damn my imagination.

* * *

It took me a whole hour to get out of that chair. My legs felt boneless, and even when I could stand up, my knees felt like they'd give out any minute. I slowly walked over to the door, resting my hand on the lock. Deep breathes Skull, deep breathes. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the door. Shit, no, no, no. I can't cry. No, stay strong, I can do this. Yeah, I can do this. I opened my eyes and opened the door, stepping out. Shutting it behind me, I made my way downstairs to see Uni. God how was I going to tell her I was leaving? This was going to be a pain. Reborn was waiting at the head of the stairs, arms folded, serious face and everything that went with.

"Who was on the phone?" I stopped a few feet in front of him and turned my eyes to see the rather lovely vase of flowers.  
"The Boss. I've got business to attend." My voice rasped a little. No point in trying to hide emotions from Reborn. Fucking mind-reading pretender. He let his arms fall to his side. "Who died?"  
Oh, he was good, I'd give him that. I contemplated on how to answer that. A name would be easiest, yes... But Stephano was more than just a name. I swallowed. "An old friend."

He put a hand on my shoulder and lowered his head, so his eyes were shadowed by his fedora. I exhaled softly and shut my eyes. "How'd you tell?" My voice cracked even when I didn't want it to.  
He wrapped me in a hug. As strange as it was for Reborn to hug a person (something I'd never seen him do), it was comforting in a way I didn't understand. "You're eyes get darker."  
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still feel a few tears slipping down my cheeks. "You're so fucking dramatic." I voice was barely a whisper. He merely patted my back in a strange fatherly way I'd never think he'd do. I started to shake a little, because God dammit, I am not crying in front of Reborn. "Fucking Rossini." I felt him nod. "Fucking Rossini."

* * *

Reborn gave me a good kick down the stairs, saying something about making a good act in front Uni. Though he threw a handkerchief at me when I'd reached the bottom, to show that he wasn't the complete asshole that I made him out to be. I got up and stretched my above my head, before messily rubbing away the tears and leaving the flimsy little cloth on the railing. The door was left open, letting the snow and wind inside. I could Lal and Colonello training outside, which basically meant him running for his life while she held the shotgun. I stepped into the kitchen, to get out of the cold. Uni and Fon were inside, making lunch. Uni turned and smiled at me, and stopped stirring whatever culinary masterpiece she had on the stove. Before she could say anything, I spoke. "I have to leave." She froze and simply stared at me.

Well this was awkward.

She didn't look like she'd say anything soon, and Fon was simply pretending not to hear. Smug Bastard.

"I've got business to attend, and I have to leave right away. I think I'll need to be in Moscow by this evening." She simply nodded. "I'll just, um, go pack my bags, yeah."  
I backed out of the doorway and dashed back up the stairs before I could catch any glorious waterworks. Colonello and Lal were just coming in, and I had to swerve and bump into a wall so I didn't hit them. And before Colonello could grab me and give me a 'friendly' punch to the gut, I ran right up stairs to my room. Shutting the door behind me, and I leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Slipping down to the floor, my knees caved in on themselves. It took me a while to catch my breath, but when I did, I jumped and started getting my stuff from all around the room. I set the clothes down on the bed and folded them there, since doing it any other way was completely impossible for me.

I crawled over my bed, to get the mini chess set I'd left there before. Someone knocked at the door. I turned my head and called out from where I was. "Its not locked!"  
Viper came in, and quickly shut the door behind her. I frowned and sat up, fiddling with the little chess set in my hands. "What do you want?  
She sighed. "I'm only here to see if you really are leaving."  
I pointed my hand at the half-packed bags. "Well there's your answer." I honestly wasn't in the mood for her. She was a bother, and if she wanted to see more of my god damn past, she'd have to get in the fucking line. Before she could open her mouth to reply, I silenced her. "No, look. I know what you want, so just come by sometime after New Years', okay? I'll be plenty free then. Now get out."

That seemed to work nicely.

* * *

I walked down the stairs carefully, very aware of the fact that Colonello might come out of his bitch cave and decide to obliterate me for the fun of it. I sighed in relief when I got to the bottom of the stairs. Uni came out of the kitchen and gave me a sad smile, before frowning. "Skull, you forgot to take off your lip chain. It'll freeze in the cold."  
And then she tugged me down to her level and forced me to kneel while undid the chain. I rolled my eyes, but hey, this was her way of showing approval. She took the chain and put into the jacket pocket on my chest, giving it a nice good pat. And then she wrapped her arms round my neck and gave me a hug. I mock sighed and put my bags down, returning it. "I'll be fine Uni, don't worry."

"Alright."

* * *

**I take back what I said about this chapter being easy. It was a motherfucker :C**  
**Reviews are sexy little things.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the delay. My thought on this chapter were very mixed up, so it took a while to get my thoughts down. I'm trying to balance the current story plot, but fit more back-story into it as well. **

* * *

God fucking damn it, I am tired. Uni spent a good hour taking off _all _of my piercings. I think she was just stalling, but come on. I nearly missed my flight.

And now I was in front of the god damn road, cars speeding by, in the fucking cold. This is like, the twelfth time in two days. Yeah, Gervasio said he'd send someone to pick me up, but who? I swear if he sends Vittorio, I will beat _the fuck_ out of him, heir or not. Bitch stole my fucking cake.  
Two older ladies that were standing near started whispering in Swedish. "Look at his hair..." "Hah, I bet he's a dumb American." And other such comments. Geez, can't they mind their own fuckin' business? I'm pretty sure mini skirts and ugg boots were out of god damn fashion this season but that didn't seem to stop them from showing off some overly chubby thighs.

Turning to them, I snapped back in perfect Swedish. "I'm sorry, can I fucking help you? No? Then fuck the fuck off." They moved away a good twenty meters. Hmm, yes that would do. I shoved my hands into my pockets and fumed silently. A sleek black limousine slowed down in front of me, with the Carcassa symbol in mini on the side. Well, geez, fucking finally. Before the driver could even get out, I opened the car door and welcomed myself in, taking a little glee in the fact that the two ladies had the jaws hitting the floor when they saw it was _my _ride. Yeah that rights bitch, I'm filthy fucking rich.

Slamming the door behind me, I turn and face whichever poor soul Vasi sent to pick me up. Correction: _Souls._ Though they didn't seem too happy. Aryana and Carina jumped from their side onto me in a squeezy tackle hug of sorts. Fuck it, I can't stay angry when their hugging me. I grinned and hugged them back. The car started moving and they both settled themselves under my arms. "So how are my too favorite little girls?"  
Carina started buried her head in shoulder and sniffled a bit. Aryana didn't really do anything. Sighing, I brought them in closer to me and hugged them tightly. "Come on, at least look at me while you're hugging me." Carina shook her head and I'm pretty sure Aryana sniffled, quiet as she was.

Leaning my head, I shut my eyes. "It'll be fine, okay? I'll find out which bastard killed Uncle Stephano and I'll give him what he deserves, okay? So please, don't cry. Please don't cry." I squeezed my eyes still all I saw was bright rainbows and polka dots. And then Aryana let out a choked sob and it took every thing to not cry because sobbing in front of twelve year olds is a big _**NO. **_The car drove on silently. They quietened down, eventually. I looked and saw they were asleep, cheeks still wet with tears. I hugged them closer. "Driver."  
"Yes sir?"  
"Where exactly are we going?"  
"There's a private airport outside of the city, available for all mafiosi as a transition point. From there we'll move on toward Italia for the funeral."  
"Ah, thank you."  
"You're welcome, sir."

I worried a little, about whether anyone would find out about the Arcobaleno base being in Russia and all. I'd been following every rule of conduct, even the useless #14, where you simply stand in front of an airport for a couple of hours until someone picks you up. Whether you came from a foreign flight or were simply dropped off there will remain unknown. Of course, anyone with mildly decent camera hacking skills would figure it out, but still. Ah, whatever. I was seen as an immature adolescent in the world of mafiosi and I'd rather it stay that way. Much more fun to see the looks of surprise on people's faces when they realize they underestimated you.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a small building, with a private jet not too far from it. I shook the twins gently to wake them up, and when they didn't, I kind of lost my patience. Traumatizing event or not, they know better than to make 'big brother' wait. "WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

* * *

**As an author that loves you all dearly, I must intervene to tell you that there are many more exclamation points, but for the sake of making this legible fanfiction, I shall only put one.**

* * *

The twins screamed and swatted at each other, before backing up towards the open doors, where they both fell out. Groans and agony on both sides - ah, music to my ears. I got out from the right side, stepping over Carina's knees as she sat up and glared at me. I yawned and shoved my hands into my pockets - God damn it, its really fucking cold. "Get up ladies, its freaking cold out." Vasi had told me not to teach them any swears, though I'm sure they already knew a whole bunch. "Bastardi..."  
Point proven.

I hurried over onto the stairs, walked into the plane. A cabin member bowed his head (ah, he was from my combat force), and I returned the gesture. I stepped inside, fully prepared to collapse onto the nearest cushioned chair. But it seemed a very not nice person had already planted themselves in my destination. He smirked and shut his book, twitching his nose (a habit he never grew out of) and pushing his glasses up. "Hello Skull."  
"Sup butthole." Censorship was needed for itty bitty babies, even if their were twenty two. Aryana and Carina stepped in after me, giving me a glare. I stuck my tongue out at them, and they smiled. Hey, it was better than having them cry.

I take my seat in front of Vittorio, taking note of the chessboard. My chessboard. That bastard! He had the nerve to touch my things with out my permission. And this is the expensive one too! Aryana and Carina sat in their seats, and simply talked about whatever twins talked about. I suppose conversation got boring when you could practically read each other's mind. I turned my eyes back to Vittorio. He put his book down next to him. "We'll be taking a detour to Munich, to ward off any suspicions from other families. You know, to make them think we don't have any problems." He raised his hand and moved a white pawn forward.

"I think it'd be better to change that to Budapest. We've already finished negotiations with the German crime syndicate in Novemer. Under-Boss Xiao Ke was going to have an appointment in Hungary tomorrow, concerning the latest heroine shipment. His flight isn't for another few hours, so tell him to cancel." I moved my knight forward onto the 'battle field'.  
"We'll go in his stead."  
Vittorio frowned at the fact that I was clearly better at this than him. Whether he was thinking of the chess or the negotiations, I'm not sure. Maybe a bit of both. He sighed and called for the cabin attendant. Tch, who does he think he is, ordering around my men like that?  
"Set up a line with General Xiao Ke."  
"Yes, sir."

He brings over a phone and dials the number for me. I raise the receiver to my ear and watch while Vittorio make his move, hesitantly pushing another pawn forward. Someone picks up the line.  
"Ah, hello?" Xiao answers with his imperfect Italian. His pronunciation was off. Anyway, the curiosity in his voice tells me he was wondering who got his private line. I switched to English, since it'd be easier on the poor bloke.  
"Cancel your flight to Budapest and take a private plane to Muscat. The meeting to establish trade agreements will be pushed back ASAP."  
"I was under the impression that the Don would personally attend that meeting."  
"Change of plans. Keep Mr. Carcassa's schedule as free as possible. Split the work evenly among the rest of the under-bosses, if you would."  
"Alright. I'll arange for the funeral preparations to be done faster as well."  
I turn my attention back to the chess game and move a piece. "Yes, that would be fantastic. Arrivederci."  
"Arrivederci."

I put the phone down and turn to my subordinate. "Inform the pilot of our change in destination, if you would please."  
"Yes, sir." He disappeared out of the cabin, and I turned back to Vittorio, to see he'd already made his move. At this rate this was going... Two minutes tops. "Is that so?" He smirked.  
"Hmm?" "You were thinking aloud." "Oh."  
"He checked his watch, and the game continued. "So why did you move your knight first?"  
I leaned forward and analyzed the pieces before speaking. "How do you expect the soldiers to move with out a leader to guide them?"  
He rolled his eyes. "Don't bother me with your idealistic views. It's much easier to let the soldiers move ahead while the leaders give order from behind."

I smiled and moved my bishop two rows to bottom right. "Tell me that when you actually win against me."  
He gave me a curious look as I stretched my arms above my head and leaned back against my seat. His eyes traveled to the chess board. "My king isn't in checkmate. Even so, your bishop is in no place to take him out."  
"No, he isn't. But you were planning on taking it out with your pawn. I could easily take your king with my rook, leaving him in checkmate. You would have retreated him backwards. My queen would have then moved and put him in checkmate."  
He stared at me dumbly. Clearly frustrated, he moves his pawn so that it contradicted what I said. I give him shit-eating grin, just to creep in. Before moving my queen to take it out, thus putting him in checkmate.

"You never learn do you? I've been leading the largest private combat army in Europe for the past thirty years. You got nothing on me."  
He gave me a good glare. "Why didn't you just tell me what you did just now? Its a much shorter way."  
"Because then you would have taken some obscure and time consuming way to loose and I hate dragging on a game for too long."

The engines started rumbling, and Vittorio flopped back, arms folded across his chest, pouting. Little children that steal cake deserve to taste defeat. Aryana and Carina turn over to face us. "Nee, Skull tell us a story."  
Of course, it was slightly obvious what story they were referring to. Vittorio perked up, even though he did his best to hide it. All they knew was that I was the son of the previous illusion master of the famiglia. Other than that, I was a complete mystery to them. They were only four people who knew, and two of them were dead. Was I even allowed to tell them? Vasi said not to tell them until they were old enough. Vittorio was certainly old enough but the twins... ah fuck it. They'll find out eventually anyway. I cleared my throat and spoke in my best old man impersonation. "Gather round children and let me tell you about when I was yer' age!"

Vittorio rolls his eyes and lets out a tiny smile. The twins hurry over and sat on both of my arm rests. I wrapped my arms around their wists and squeezed tight. "You better pay attention, okay?"

* * *

**I'm so sorry for the short chapter. I promise the next one will be nothing but 3,000 words of pure backstory. As a treat.  
Just for you guys.****  
**

**Reviews are sexy little things.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Easiest. Chapter. Ever.**

* * *

It was awfully awkward at home. Mama and Papa hated being in each other's presence for longer than necessary. And this was definitely longer than necessary.  
The guest didn't seem to notice (or maybe he chose to ignore...) the atmosphere and calmly sipped his tea. He couldn't be much more than twenty, yet he was easily handling the situation more maturely than his parents. James looked up to his mother, whose eyes were traveling across the many photos on the walls in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone in the room. A fat lot of good that'd do her. He shifted a little in her lap. This was the first time a _very _long time that she'd held him in her lap. But that was just it. Holding. Perhaps he should be feeling loved and happy and grateful but he wasn't feeling loved or happy or grateful because this was just for show. Being held by his mother wasn't really everything that he had made it out to be.

He turned to his father, who swallowed nervously as he waited for the younger man to speak. Finally, the guest put down his tea cup, a forced smile on his face (even though it seemed to come with ease). Perhaps he was more of a coffee person? The only reason the six year old knew what coffee is is because the sweet old lady next door who babysat him often was his teacher. That enough made him much smarter than your average six year old, even if he still didn't understand why people did the stupid things they always do. Though his parents still thought he was a stupid little boy since they never saw him do homework (he finished it in the hours he waited after school for them to pick him up).

But his thoughts ended trailing back to the man sitting across from them in a very nice suit and with hand folded politely on his lap. "Mr. Donatello, I'm sure you understand why I've come to pay a visit to your lovely little home."  
His father cleared his throat and spoke. "Y-yes, Mr. Cizeta, and about that-" He was silenced with a raise of a hand by 'Mr. Cizeta', who smiled calmly and shook his head. James decided that he liked this Cizeta man very much if he could silence father like that.

"I'm afraid to say that we've already given you too much time, and apparently too much of our trust. You've gambled away our money on bunnies and booze." Mother stiffened when she heard that, swinging her head around to glare at Papa. "Not only that, you've wasted away your time to the point where you can no longer cast illusions. I'm afraid to say this, but we no longer have a need for you." He paused for a moment. "You already know too many of our secrets, but I'm afraid to say that you know exactly what conclusion Mr. Carcassa and the under bosses have come too."  
Mother gave a sly smile - a smirk, that was what the old lady had said.

Mr. Cizeta looked at mother, who nodded and stood up, leading me away from the room. James turned my head and smiled at Mr. Cizeta, who returned it graciously. He decided that he liked this man an awful lot.

* * *

Giancarlo Carcassa wasn't a good man, but Skull was damn sure he was a smart man. Even with Donatello's death, he wasn't satisfied. So when Shirley willingly gave up her son to send to a remote orphanage in Sweden, Giancarlo all but paid for the flight there. A mutual agreement had been made that he'd stay there, since no one else wanted him. A life of solitude and loneliness was worse than any torture he could force the immortal six year old into. As said, Giancarlo was a smart man, yes, but a cruel one.  
Anyone with in the family was forbidden from taking him as a son.

* * *

The airplane was so cold. It was so cold. He was sure his nose had frozen off and the skin on his fingers blue, even with the blankets that he had wrapped himself in. Just how long had he been here? A few hours? Somehow, everything was so quiet, yet so loud. The muted of hum the air-conditioner, the faint rumbling of lighting, and the pitter patter of rain on the plane. The old lady had told him it didn't rain in the sky, because it was always sunny in heaven. But something told James that he'd never make it to heaven, not after what his father had done to him. Oh no, he was headed straight to hell. Black magic was for the damned and the doomed.

The fat old man sleeping next to him smelled awful. Maybe his mother hadn't scrubbed him enough before he was put on the plane. Either way, he tightened his grip on the blanket and covered his nose with it, to stop both the awful smell and the awful cold that had nearly frozen him solid. Mr. Cizeta ("Stephano," the man had once corrected, with a smile), said he would go on a different plane. James' regretted agreeing to that.

* * *

The building looked like something out of a story book. He only knew what story books were because of the old lady next door who used to babysit him. Used to.

It had white boarding the whole way round, and pale pink slating along the top. There were several chimneys, even though no one used chimneys (at least, his mother said so) and the windows and dark green shutters. The garden was very, very green for a place so cold. The bushes were far too large and looked like they hadn't been trimmed in a while, but they fit in seamlessly. Many trees surrounded the building, lush and green. A large hog? No, hedge. H-E-D-G-E. The sweet old lady had taught him that such things were called hedges, not hogs. Hogs were a type of pig, and plants should not called pigs and pigs should not be called plants.

So his eyes followed the very large hedge that seemed to stick to the wall of the house and went all the way up to the top of chimney, were it looked like it had been hacked off to stop if from covering that too. He turned to the man who held his hand, who was politely smiling the whole time. His slicked blonde hair was placed neatly underneath his fedora hat trimmed with purple. He wore a rather simple suit with a purple shirt underneath and a loosely done tie. James liked his smile. It reminded him of sunny days and ice cream the old lady used to buy him.

He decided that this man would be his new papa. And when he said that out loud, the man looked a little surprised. Didn't he want to be James' papa? James' old papa was a bad man, and disappeared anyway. James' thought that this man would make a much better papa than one he used to have. The man kneeled down to look the little boy in the eyes, setting down the little suitcase he carried. He rested his hands on James' shoulders and he had this calm look in his eyes that made him feel as tired as the other looked. Maybe he wasn't sleeping enough. The old lady always said that young men like him should always get enough sleep.

"Listen, James, I can't be your papa, but I promise I'll visit as often as I can. Is that okay with you?"  
This was the first time someone other than the old lady asked him for his opinion. He nodded slowly, when he realized that this man actually wanted to _his _answer. A small smile appeared on Mr. Stephano's face. "There are many other children here. You can make friends with them, okay? They don't speak Italian or English, so you try extra hard to learn their language, okay?"  
Again, another nod followed. Skull would do whatever this man told him to.

"And James, from now on, your name shall be Davide, okay? If anyone asks for your name, you shall say your name is Davide." He nodded one final time. Maybe he didn't understand why the man's eyes looked so sad, but James- no _Davide - _didn't like it one bit. Moving forward, he wrapped his arms around the man's neck, giving him a hug. Startled, the man didn't move for a moment, before very slowly hugging the little boy back with an emotion he couldn't really say. Maybe the old lady hadn't taught him every word in the world. He let go of the man and gave him the biggest grin he possibly could, and used his fingers to force the man's own mouth into a smile. "You gotta smile, other wise the tooth fairy isn't going to see you pretty teeth!" He said, in the worst Italian Stephano had ever heard. Nonetheless, he really did smile after that, shaking his head and wondering who on Earth taught the child all these strange things.

He got up, picking up the child's suitcase, which contained the bare necessities. He turned and faced older woman, who hair was pulled back in a tight bun that stretched her skin and whose face was fixed into a constant frown. Her glasses slipped far too low on her nose. Davide (or was it James?) walked up to her and tugged a little at the old fashioned skirt she wore. "Hey lady, are you from a story book?"  
She reminded him a lot of the stern mothers that ruled the fairy tales in his mind. The lady looked away from him at Papa Stephano. "I don't speak Italian."  
Stephano gave her a smile. "I'm afraid to say there wasn't enough time to teach him Swedish. You wouldn't mind teaching him, would you? He's quite a fast learner for someone his age."

The lady gave him a half-hearted glare, because staying angry at a man like this was impossible. Far too much charisma. Made her wonder why _he _wasn't the boss of Europe's largest drug trafficking family. But then again, she had nothing to do with such horrible things and would not ask any questions about it. It simply didn't concern her of course. She forcefully took the boy's hand and the suitcase in her other, leading him inside. He cried out from the pain in his hand. He tried stopping her, but she was far too strong for him. He screamed and kicked and begged in Italian but she ignored every plea. He turned his head stretched an arm out to Papa Stephano and cried out for help.  
And Davide could see in his eyes that it was killing the man. For the first time, he wasn't smiling and his eyes were all watery but he couldn't turn away because he knew if he did then he'd regret it for the rest of his life. It was situations like this that made him hate Giancarlo. But god dammit, he was right when he said this was the most perfect punishment for the bastardi's son.

The door slammed shut behind the woman and he swore to himself that he wouldn't let this be the last time he saw Davide.  
It wasn't.

* * *

He wasn't lying when he said that Davide was a quick learner. With in two weeks he spoke better Swedish than the children that were actually Swedish. Still, the other children avoided him like the plague.

A freak. Thats what he was. He quickly lost the tan he'd gained from spending too much time under Italian's summer suns and playing in the sand. He'd turned almost a ghostly pale, even though he didn't act like it. That and the fact that the scrapes on his knees disappeared the moment they existed and when he got a paper cut that one time in arts and crafts, the blood magically floated back into his finger. Of course, Mrs. Ahlquist would have none of that nonsense, because things like that simply didn't happen. But she herself began to question is eventually when the scars started showing up out of nowhere, even though she herself had never seen anything like that happen to Davide.

But nonetheless, the boy remained as positive as he could possibly be, even if he was too quiet most of the time. He stuck too reading books, just like the old lady had taught him. He would hide away in the corner of the library with a book on carpeting that was too rough. He would explore the deepest, darkest crevices of literature and fantasy, because reality never seemed to satisfy him. How could it, when his days were filled with nothing but taunts and sneers from other seven year olds his age. But if there was one thing he looked forward too other than the library and sandwich cake night were the visits he got from Papa Stephano.

At first, the man found it annoying that the child insisted on calling him that, but he went along with it eventually. The child would need a father, what with everything he was going through. Making time to fly to Sweden was hard though. He was the right hand of a rather infamous drug lord and he had business to take care of most days. His visits were restricted to every two months, partly because he simply didn't not have time, and partly because Giancarlo did not approve of what he doing.

Davide was rather glad that the library had windows that showed the front on the house. He could escape to, I don't know, fucking Narnia, and he'd still hear the thrum of Papa Stephano's car as he stopped in front of the orphanage. And then Davide would jump up and run outside, hugging the only man he'd ever call Papa, before dragging him inside and forcing him to read with him. The visits only lasted a day or so, but they were better than nothing. It was these days that stopped the boy from breaking down into a mess of untouchable sadness.

* * *

It wasn't too long after he'd bid Papa Stephano good bye that the 'incident' happened. Mr. Andersen, a man that stayed at the orphanage and helped take care of the children, approached Davide as he made his way back inside. The man gave him a broad smile, "Davide, would you come this way please?"  
The little boy didn't know any better, of course. Mr. Andersen was such a nice man that would sometimes help him with arts and crafts. He graying hair and glasses that were far too round, but they suited him just fine. So Davide didn't suspect a thing as he skipped after Mr. Andersen to the farther corners of the garden. Some of the older children gave him funny looks and shook their heads. Maybe he had some food on his face? He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and saw nothing. Oh, whatever.

The two were hidden quite far behind the trees that surrounded the house. "So what is it Mr. Andersen?" He gave the man the broadest smile he possibly could. The gave him a grin that the boy didn't really like. "Take off your clothes Davide."  
The boy merely stared at the man. "But I don't want to. Its cold sir."  
The man gave him a frown. "I told you to take off your clothes." Mr. Andersen always had a short temper, but even so, Davide whimpered and backed away a little bit. "No, I don't wanna."  
The man gave him a glare and reached out for the boy.

Mr. Andersen fell to the ground and Davide cried out and back away. There was red stuff coming out of Mr. Andersen's head. _There was red stuff coming out Mr. Andersen's head._ He tripped over a tree root and landed painfully on his butt. He looked up with wide eyes at the person only a few feet in front of him. The guy couldn't be more than fourteen, and he recognized him as one of the older children in the orphanage. Overly messy blonde hair tied back into a dirty ponytail. He was rather scruffy looking, kind of thin, but not scrawny. A glare was all it took to tell that he wasn't to be messed with. That and the broken branch in his hand, which he dropped immediately. He rushed over to Davide and forced him to stand up. He spoke in a hushed voice. "Go back inside to the library and pretend happened, alright? Go inside, go!"

He ran for his life. The boy, he seemed like he could be trusted, but then again, he trusted Mr. Andersen. He had to swallow up all of his fear when he saw Mrs. Ahlquist, and the moment she had turned the corner he started running again. All the way to the back of the library where Narnia was his home and books his savior. But books weren't going to protect him from a teenager with a bloody branch in hand. That and the boy had a very strange feel about him. Almost like his father. But not evil in the slightest... just similar. Perhaps he knew how to do the same things that his father used to know.

Either way, Davide couldn't get his mind off the boy, no matter how much he tried.

* * *

**OH MY GOD. I have been waiting to write this part for so long sjdkhfdskghkjf. And as I promised, more than 3000 words of nothing but pure backstory. Just for you guys. We'll be switching back to normal story in the next chapter so please review and tell what you think about all of this! **


	7. Chapter 7

**I think I didn't make this clear before (or at all). This takes place five years from the present, and yes, Aria is dead.**

**Short chapter because I am lazy and JENSEN ACKLES HAS A NICE BUTT.  
**

**Yolo.  
**

* * *

I sigh and lick my lips. That was a lot of talking. I was about to continue when I noticed Aryana was leaning on me too heavily. I turned my head and shook her gently. She only slumped further onto me, as did Carina when I moved. Were they-? I smiled, and held them a little closer to stop them from falling completely. Just when did they fall asleep? And right at the good part too. I looked up to Vittorio, who was cleaning his glasses, a small smile on his face (seems he didn't forget the nose twitch either). "When did they fall asleep?"  
He put his glasses back on. "Ten minutes ago." I frowned. That probably meant thirty or forty minutes ago. Vittorio had a horrible sense of time. How the hell he'd managed to secure the position of heir was beyond me. Even the Chinese dweeb was more qualified, and he barely had connection to the family.**  
**

"Help me out, would ya?" He sighed and got up, picking up Carina gently and carrying her over to her seat. I slung Aryana over my shoulder and set in her in her seat, in front of Carina. She yawned and rolled over, curling into a ball. Hmm, adorable. I stretched my arms above my head and yawned too. Damn, how long have we been sitting?  
"Few hours."  
I look at Vitti. "What?"  
He sighs and runs hand through his hair - just one of many things he got from his mother. "You voice you're thoughts way too much."

"Hmm." I scratch my back and flop back into my seat. Vittorio yawned and took his place back in front of me. "Where did you get the board? The writing looks Arabic."  
I settle my finger on the edge of the board and tap it. "Close - I got it Iran, hand made. And the language is Farsi."  
"And the jewels?" I started putting the pieces back in their case. "Jade, amethyst and mother of pearl. The rest is just fancy wood carving." I close the case and set it down on the floor and fix my feet up on the table. "Say, shouldn't we be there yet? Its been more than a few hours."  
"Well, we're nearly there. We had to take a few detours you know - this is international air space."

"That so..." I frowned. How long would we even be staying? The funeral was tomorrow. I looked to Vittorio and he seemed to know what I was thinking, strangely. "Our schedule allows us to stay a ten hours, ten and a half tops. After that we'll go straight to Italia for the funeral, which will happen shortly after we arrive."  
I shake my head, switching to English under my breathe. "Fookin' mind readers..."

* * *

**A/N: Irish accents man. Yeaaaaah.**

* * *

"Huh?" I grinned. Seem Vitti didn't know English (or maybe he hadn't heard?). Well, good for me. I get up and stretch my legs. "You wait here. I'm just gonna walk around for a bit."  
He nodded and opened his book. The cover had some overly muscular man holding a stick thin girl in front of a raging storm. Were all romance novels like that? It looked like it was in German too. Weirdo.

I go take a look into the back door, opening the door cautiously. Aratoni, was snoozing in his chair, but he jumped up with his right hand in a salute the moment I opened the door. I smiled. The cabin he was in was simple enough, standard air craft staff cabin, with too many drawers for food we were going to eat and some coat hangers in the back. "Sit down, I'm not here to interrogate you."  
He nervously averted his eyes and sat. "Y-yes sir."

It made me a little sad to think that one my men was still shy around me. But then again, Aratoni was a newbie. Why else would he listen to Vittorio? Number one unofficial rule of Carcassa Combat forces: Do not listen to Vittorio. He wears Armani. (So do many other people, but listening to Vittorio is boring).

I walk over to the rack, flipping through the suits. I recognized some of Vittorio's, other's simply screamed Armani, and then I found my good old Westwood. Three piece, black and pinstriped. Only formal clothes that are even worthy of my sexy bod. I think I have a shirt tie in my bag, so it'll be fine. I pick out the suit and turn to Aratoni. "Hey, where's the bathroom?"  
He fumbled along with his words. "I-its the door to your right, sir."  
"Thanks."

I open the door and set the suit on the counter, kicking the door closed behind me. Needless to say, I looked fookin' marvelous in Westwood. I picked up my jacket and fished around in the pockets for my piercing. Does purple look better with gold or silver? I both types up to my face to compare. Yeah, definitely silver. I put the gold ones back in their cases. I winced as I put the labret piercing in. None of the others hurt nearly as much. I took a look in the mirror, deeming that yeah, I looked fookin' marvelous. Though I'd need a coat. It snowed a lot in Hungary. The plane started wobbling. Were we descending already? Vittorio was right, despite his crap time sense.

* * *

Okay so maybe I didn't have a coat. That resulted in me being a constant 'grouchy face', as dubbed by Carina when she woke up. We went in separate cars of course. Just like we had business, so did they, apparently. Though whatever the hell they were doing in Budapest was beyond me. Sightseeing? Well, there wasn't anything you couldn't find anywhere else, but hey, thats their problem. Right now, mine was glaring at Vittorio while he tried getting me out of the car. But unfortunately, he is and asshole and I am cold and this car has a heater that happens to be in very good condition.

But of course he used to 'What-if-I-die' excuse and that made me leave. God damn fricking heirs. Vasi would murder me a thousand times over if he found out that Vittorio died while I was in the same _continent. _He would literally do that. He's actually tried. He got to twelve before Stephano stepped in. I winced as I remembered that. Not exactly the most pleasant memory. Vittorio snorted. "You remember that."  
I swear to god I am hooking this man up with Reborn. They would have the time of their lives trying to figure out what the other was thinking. Vittorio mentioned that he liked men in suits anyway. Now all I needed to do was convince Reborn he was gay and then he'd never have time to hit ever again. Sweet freedom, here I come.

Until then, I'd have to put up with walking a snow covered sidewalk. Vittorio was holding out his phone in front of him, probably following whatever directions he'd been given. Damn it, this was far too suspicious. Fucking Hungarians. The burning white of the snow was starting to hurt my eyes, so I dug into my jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. I was supposed to pretend to be Vittorio's bodyguard as the meeting. Well enough, since we hadn't brought enough men and there was no way in hell I was volunteering my newbie to do it. I'd rather have him survive for a while and figure out why exactly I know his name (and everyone else's).

He stopped suddenly in front of a building and I nearly bumped into him. Does the man keep forgetting I have a gun in my pocket? Next time he does anything mildly stupid I'm shooting his foot, whether Vasi will kill me or not. I growled a little and turned around, looking at the security guards. Vittorio gave them the goofiest smile he could manage. "I'm here as a representative for the Carcassa Famiglia."  
The security nodded and opened the door for us. We stepped, and thank God, they knew what heaters were. The hallway was minimally furnished, just a long carpet (Persian?) and a few paintings occasionally. Hmm, this place was barely mediocre. And to think we have to act like complete fools.

We were put into a room at the end of the hallway. Overly extravagant _bright red _furniture all over the room, with eye-burning gold trimming. Ugh, Hungarians have no class what so ever. And seriously, this was so cliche. Vittorio sat down on the couch, opposite from a woman in a very skimpy cocktail dress. What from the way the guards constantly bowed, I'd assumed she was the Don. She gave us a sugary sweet smile. Fucking old hag, she's too gross to be wearing something like that. I grind me teeth together and stand behind Vittorio.

"Its a pleasure to meet you, Lady Antoinette." Wait, that wasn't a Hungarian name? "The pleasure is mine, Sir Carcassa."  
Ah, an Austrian accent. I suppose I should be surprised, but I guess I'm not.

She leaned forward a bit (oh God, _ew) _and spoke first. "I'm not exactly happy, you see, with the current trade agreement. I feel like we're not getting enough on our side of the bargain."  
I had to stop myself from shooting her brains out right there. Oh, the bitch was getting plenty on her side of the bargain. Autrichienne. The rest of the discussion went along in a much more polite version of: "Give me money." "No, fuck you." And then it turned into a literal version of that, not surprisingly. Vittorio leaned forward, smiling. "No, seriously, I ain't changing the fucking deal."

A few of the security guards pulled out their pistols. Oh my God, is she serious? I held back a snort as the old hag smiled. "Oh come on now, my family deserves much more money than you paid."  
Before Vittorio could even reply, I spoke for him. "Lady, we've paid using the international value of heroin. If you think we're ripping you off, then get in fucking line."

A loud bang was heard, and I felt something digging into my back. Yawning, I took off my suit - agh, a perfectly outfit ruined - and shook until the bullet fell out. My skin started to itch really badly as the blood floated back and the flesh closed itself. I grinned. "Now, ma'am, would you care to reconsider?"

* * *

We were out of Hungary with four hours. Turns out the girls did go shopping. And they bought me a nice new suit from a company I don't even know. If I didn't have a hole in my Westwood I would have burned it on the spot. Didn't there mother teach them to never buy anything from brand's they don't recognize?

* * *

**Skull, your Italian is showing.**

**Skull.**

_**SKULL.**_

**Reviews are nice yes. **


	8. Update Author's note

**Hello everyone! I'm afraid to say that I won't be posting for the next couple of weeks. I'm having laptop problems, and I'm going to pick out a new one when I go to America for holiday. So please, bear with me on this short hiatus. But don't worry! I'm taking my note book with me where ever I go, so I'll still be writing, so the moment I get the chance, I'll type my stuff up and post it for you! Now, since 'author's note only' chapters aren't allowed, have a short skit to help you get a better idea of the characters involved in the story.**

* * *

I sipped my tea (I hated coffee with the will of a thousand dying suns), and watched the three children. Carina and Aryana were normal enough, considering their childhood with parents for mafia. Keeping such a huge thing a secret from them was out of question, and it simply wasn't Gervasio's style. To him, family is family, and no one gets left out. An admirable trait, not one you'd expect in him, considering the kind of things he handles. My eyes went back to the two toddlers, happily tearing out grass by the roots and sprinkling it over their matching frocks. Adorable, yes. I already knew I'd have the most wonderful time raising them as a 'big brother'. Though I wasn't quite so sure about Vittorio. My eyes moved slowly to the boy across from him.

He was small, scrawny and had the most horrible habit of twitching his nose every five seconds. He was like a mouse of sorts. Tousled black hair and dark skin like his mother's were the only trait he inherited from his parents. His eyes were in a whole league of their own, deep brown with the oddest of gold flecks here and there, covered by a pair of over-expensive glasses. It was hard to believe that he was the son of Gervasio and Vaidehi Carcassa, once you got to know the family. For Pete's sake, the kid was reading a book on _Quantum Physics!_ Gervasio doesn't even know what that means! I stare at the poor make up on the kid's left eye. Who does he think he's fooling with a shit job like that? I sigh and stand up, looking towards my body guard. "Watch over the twins," I turn to face Vittorio, who looked at me curiously, "_You're_ coming with me."

He gives a glare for disturbing his 'light reading', but follows me up to my room anyway. I set him down in front of the mirror and give him a frown. "So, who punched you today?"  
"Shut the fuck up Skull." Who does he think he is, giving me attitude like that? I give him a grin. "Ooh, look at you, using a word like that. Listen here, you puke-brained bitch ass whore," As over the top as that was, I did enjoy the look of disgust on his face, "take that shit make up off your face right now."  
He stood up and tried punching, but I easily sidestepped it and grabbed his wrist, pull the sleeve down. There were too many bruises there for my my liking. I kick him the shin and sit him down on the chair, before grabbing a tissue and wiping the gunk off his face. He glared, but stayed put.

I reapplied some make up, doing a much more convincing job, I must add. When I was done, he brushed past me and headed out of my room. As he opened the door, I called out to him. "Next time someone tries punching you, pinch the inside of their elbow."  
He doesn't reply, but merely slams the door in my face.

Getting the boy to open up to me would prove an impossible task. I smile and put away my things. I had all of time to get him to talk, so what's the rush?

* * *

**Vittorio is a cold, sarcastic bastard with very little sense of humor \(*o*)/ **

**I suppose this take place nine to ten years before out current story? Whatever, no one cares. **


	9. Chapter 8

**Short chapter because of complications mentioned earlier.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

The airplane slowed to a stop and I took a shaky breath. Vittorio looked at me strangely, before standing up and putting on his jacket. "Get your act together. We're heading straight to the funeral."  
Aryana and Carina got up with him, smoothing their black skirts in unison, which they'd changed into earlier. My subordinate unlocks the door, and the three leave. I take a deep breath and stand up - why were my knees so weak? - walked to the door. The attendant stands up a little straighter and gives me a salute. All I could do was give a weak smile and step out, holding onto the railing for dear life as I descended.

A car waited at the bottom of the staircase. I looked around a bit. We'd landed a safe distance away from the mansion, in the forest around the territory. The ground was covered in a thin layer of frost, with snow surrounding. I breathed out slowly, and watched the fog form in front of my face. Vittorio called out from inside the car. "You coming or not?"  
The twins poked their heads out curiously. "Nah, I'll walk."  
The girls spoke up in unison. "But then you'll miss the funeral."  
I gave them a half-hearted grin. "Don't worry, I'll show up."

The driver shuts the door, and they're off. I watch them for a while, before heading down a different path, into the forest. The gravel crunched silently under my feet, sliding along occasionally. My teeth chatter a little. I shove my hand down into my coat pocket and dig out a scarf, wrapping it tightly around my neck and jaw. I was pretty sure I was wearing it wrong, but at least it was warm. The hum of the air plane gets farther and farther away, until it stops completely, and all I hear is the crunching gravel and my own breathing. I turn on the path, stopping for a bit and leaning against a bare tree. The snow falls too lightly, and it makes eyelids tired. How long have I been outside? The cold makes me tired.

I ground my teeth and move on. The sky was different from before (was it evening already?). I move aside stray branches from my face, the bark sharp and stinging against my bare fingers. I really should be wearing more, and I get the feeling its dropped a few more degrees. I trudge onwards into the cold, as the snow starts falling heavier. My piercings had already frozen over, and I'm pretty sure this was dangerous, but hey, what could it do to me? Nothing.

I step into a small clearing. Stephano had this small retreat made just for me and him. I sit down on the bench, the only thing worth noting here. I can almost feel the ghost of his arm reaching around me and giving a comforting squeeze on my shoulder. A tear drop slips down my cheek and I turn, even though I knew no one was there.  
I want my papa.

I hear footsteps and I stand up immediately, wiping away the tears that escaped my eyes. It was Gervasio. He was wrapped up in too many layers, hands shoved in his pockets. He sees me gives a nod of greeting. "Hi."  
My voice comes too raspy (how long have I been in the cold?). He comes over and gives me a tight hug, something I can't return. He smells of cologne that's faded and his blond hair is getting in my nose. When I realize he's crying, I raise a hand and pat him gently on the back, because that's all I could do at the moment. I grind my teeth together - crying now is bad. You don't ever cry in front of Gervasio. He's the one that's needs to be comforted now. Not me. Him.

We stood like that for so long that the sky turned black. There were too many clouds . I wanted the stars.

I let go of him and kneel down, taking his hand. I press my lips against his ring,an emerald surrounded by a small spiral of diamonds. He needed this kind of reassurance right now. He takes a shaky breath. "Tell me about your brother."  
I don't move from where I am, not even looking up. "You are my brother."  
"One more time," His voice sounds so weak it _physically _hurts me, "Tell the story just one more time."

"Sì, mio re."

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**Google translate is my new best friend. I promise the next chapter will be longer!  
Reviews are wonderful.  
**


	10. Chapter 9

**Oh my god. I have not updated in so long. So long. I have worked so hard on this chapter, that if it is anything less perfect, I think I might actually cry. It might seem short for the time it took, but I have been extremely busy, and I'm still on holiday. I won't start writing again for another few days, when I'm back home and comfortable. _A lot_ of things are revealed in this chapter, and it is very important. Do care to over-analyze it, you might actually find out things I chose not to say aloud. **

**I checked my follower count, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was risen. Thank you all, for following this story! Its like you're giving me support without saying a word. Though it would be nice if you pmed me (lol) and reassured me that my story wasn't actually complete crap. **

* * *

I was scared. I was so scared.

I've still got dirt on my shoes and my shirt is untucked. My hands shook violently and I sat on them. The bookshelves of the library only seemed to get larger and larger around me, closing in like predators. A hand covered my mouth, muffling the scream that came of shock. "Relax, its just me."

I break away from the grip; which was just as eager to release me. I turn to face him, breathing heavy and eyes wide. It was the boy from before, the one that had hit Mr. Andersen. He looked just as scruffy as I did, with little bits of dirt sprayed across his clothes and his pants sagging off his hips. It must have been something from that dreadful 'hippie' movement from America that Mrs. Ahlquist kept complaining about. His hair was unkept and looked like it hadn't seen shears in a good few years. His eyes were obscured by his glasses, which were taped together in the middle, just beneath his brow. He gave me a broad smile, one that easily reached the creases of his eyes.  
"You were in some trouble there, weren't cha? Glad I came along." He spoke with the strangest accent I'd ever heard. It didn't suit him in the slightest.

I shook my head vigorously and back up against the wall. This boy was strange. He had the same air as father: mysterious, impatient and something else I could put a finger on. He didn't seem harsh, not like father had, but I was scared of him nonetheless. He reached forward and poked my belly. "Yer' so skinny its startin' ta' scare me."  
I swatted his hand away and pouted; what right did he have to touch me? He laughed a strange laugh, one that sounded like rusted bells. It made me feel all funny. Was he a wizard, like the ones gran gran told me about in stories? "I'm Rohan. Whats yer' name?"

He kneeled down to my level and held out a hand for me to shake. I puffed my chest out and shook his hand, like I'd seen papa do so many times. "My name is Davide!" I announced, trying to sound bigger than I was. He looked at me funny, before smiling. "Thats a cool name. I'll be yer' big brother from now on, capiche?" He said, in perfect Italian. Was he from Italy too? I hadn't seen anyone else that came from home other than Papa. I nodded and smiled. Perhaps he was not so bad then.

I liked this older brother of mine.

* * *

I followed him up to his room, because he said he had grape candy. I like grape candy. I was kind of jealous of how the older kids got their own roms and I had to share mine with three other boys. He opened his door, labeled with 'Rohan' scrawled onto card, revealing a literal mess. There were clothes all over his room, sticking out from the chest of drawers, on his desk, _under his bed. _His bed was unmade, revealing papers thrown all underneath the covers, and more of them were all over his desk. I turn around and kick his leg. He cries out and falls over onto a pile of mess, clutching his shin. "Wha' wus that for?"  
I point a finger angrily at him and put my other hand on my hip. "Being messy is bad! Big bugs are gonna crawl all over your room now!"

He stared at me incredulously for a moment, before laughing and rubbing his shin, and leaning up to pat my head. He had the kind of laugh filled with awkward snorts and chortles and tears that touched the corners of his eyes. "Who told ya' that?" He had the largest grin on his face.  
"My gran gran did. She used to make me cakes and teach me my times tables and took me to the zo-" I was already starting to count things on my fingers when Rohan shoved a grape candy into my mouth. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

He rolled his eyes and sat at his desk, pulling out a pen from his drawer and a notebook from a collapsed pile on the floor. I shut the door quietly behind me and walk up to him. He was drawing a little circle with pointy bits sticking out, stopping to write things on the side in a strange swirly foreign language I didn't understand. I take my candy out of my mouth and touch his cheek with it. He makes a strangled cat noise and falls out of his chair, sending up a flurry of paper. He sits up straight on the floor and rubs his bottom, glaring up at me. "Wha' wus that for?"  
I pop the candy back into my mouth. "You're messy."  
He mumbled something I couldn't hear, before getting up and going back to what he was doing without another word. I pout and hold my breath, rolling the candy under my tongue. I do this when I'm really mad. After a minute, my face starts to hurt and he still hasn't said anything.

I let my breath out and stick my tongue at him, before a kicking a random pile of clothes. Stupid mess. Why did everything have to be so messy?  
I grumbled and moved over to his bed, carefully stepping over notebooks (gran gran said is was bad luck to step on books). I tossed aside the clothes and papers on his bed onto the floor. Rohan gave me a lingering side glance, but no more.

I pulled up the cover up and over the pillow, fixing the side and corners until it was as neat as gran gran had taught me to make it. I picked up some of the clothes that I threw down earlier, I put them on the bed and started folding them. The pants were straight forward enough, but I got stuck. Turning to him, I asked, "How do you old shirts?"  
"Sleeves first." He waved his pen around in the air a bit as a makeshift tutorial, before going back to writing, without so much as a glance at me. I flipped the shirt over and put the sleeves in and pulled the bottom up. I folded the sides in before deciding that it looked about right. I take the pile of folded clothes and carry them over slowly to his chest of drawers, pulling out the messy clothes and putting the neat ones in. I turned around and looked at the remaining piles of mess on the floor, wincing. This would take a very long time.

* * *

I smack the back of his head with a towel. "Brother!"  
"Wha' wus that for?" He turns around and gives me a glare (if looks could kill..), which is the first time hes taken his eyes off his work in the past hour. "I cleaned your room." I stand proudly in front of my masterpiece with my hands on my hips and a grin on my lips. He stares at the room with wide eyes, before turning back to me and saying softly, "Ya' didn't have ta' do that, ya' know."

I stare at him straight in the eye. "Gran gran said if you want to be friends with someone, you have to do nice things for him! And papa said mafia men have to polite!"  
He looks at me with the most shocked expression on his face. I scratch my cheek. "What?"  
He stares at me funny, with his eyebrows pointing in, making his pasty forehead look like creased paper. "Davide, do ya' know what 'mafiya' means?" The word sounded funny in his accent.  
I shrugged and rolled my tongue against the inside of my cheeks - I wanted another candy. "I dunno."  
He looked away for a moment, mumbling something I couldn't hear. Why did he look so cross? Did I do something wrong? Did I put clothes in the wrong place? Oh why did he have to label his drawers in Swedish! Reading the language was much harder than speaking it.

"Davide."

I snap out of my thoughts. "Yes?"  
He gave me a smile filled with too much sweetness. "Do ya' care if I look in yer' head fur a bit?"  
I shake my head and grin. "Of course not! Family don't keep secrets from each other, right?" Maybe he was one of those gypsy folk that read minds, like gran gran had told me about. Though I never expected to find one so far north.  
He gave me a sad smile, one that looked to old, before lowering his hand and gently placing his finger on the space between my brows and saying something in a language I did't know.

* * *

_October 31st, 1963._

Today was the first time James died. He was just over a year old.  
It was a malfunction; an aftereffect of a improperly done spell.

He died two more times after that. The second time was an accident. The third: murder.

The killer was fairly obvious.

* * *

_James _sobbed. Tiny little hiccups with tears down his face and endless trembling. I held my brother tightly in my lap, burying my face in his unruly mop of blonde hair. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I mumble quietly, more to myself than to him. That little boy had gone through something no human should ever have to go through. _God,_ it made me so mad. That bastard, Feliciano, how could he do stab his own son in the back? **How?  
**There were so many things James saw but never understood. So many things he heard but never listened to.

The way his father would occasionally stare at the wall with nothing but a grin on his face. The way he would glare daggers at Shirley, his wife, like she was Satan herself. The way he screamed and abused his family and his colleagues... A clear case of insanity.  
There were things no little boy should ever have to see. I heard a knock at the door and I looked up. "Come in."  
Mrs. Ahlquist came in, her stern demeanor broken only by the slight widening of her eyes. She looked at me strangely, nudging her head in the direction of James, no, Davide. _'What happened?' _I pushed his head deeper into my shoulder, blocking his ears and his sobs. "Mr. Andersen tried to assault him. I barely got there in time."

Her face hardened. She walked closely up to the bed and sat down my Davide, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. The boy abruptly broke away from and starting crying Mrs. Ahlquist, curling into a little ball. Preferring to hug Mrs. Ahlquist over me? Ouch. That hurt. The woman was slightly put off by the sudden embrace, but she gently hugged him and whispered comforting words into his ears. She looked more gentle than I'd ever seen her before. Perhaps she used to have children of her own. Somehow she managed to make the boy stop crying long enough to take him downstairs for dinner.

I get up and leave my room, walking silently to the library, reflecting on what I just saw. Perhaps Mrs. Ahlquist wasn't really the horrible person everyone made her out to be. Or maybe she just had a soft spot for the quirky little child who had yet to hit his growth spurt.

Davide liked books, I think. Much more than the average seven year old, it seemed. I mutter a swear under my breath when I realize what I'm doing. Since when had I been reduced to comforting crying little boys with their problems? Last I checked, I was made of sterner stuff. If Davide he didn't have a constant shit storm of magic following his every move, I wouldn't even care to remember his name. But now... Jesus, damn, what am I supposed to do?

I got what I wanted. I know why his aura stinks of magic, I know why it seems so powerful, so similar to mine. It was a simple spell, one I'd mastered years ago. I'd perfected it, compared to the amateur imitation I'd seen just moments ago. But I can't leave him, not after I'd seen what I had.

I sigh quietly, and step into the library. It was easily the largest room in the building, with towering windows that faced the south and west sides of the estate. The bookcases were almost as tall, with ladders connected for the books that couldn't be reached normally. They were made of dark cherry wood, just as the tables that scattered across the library were. The slight smell of old dust and even older books filled my nose. I had a slight feeling of nostalgia. Libraries were so wonderful.

I walk past the tables, my fingers brushing against the cold, polished wood. Quietly, I walk into an empty aisle near the back, where I'd met James earlier. There was still a little bit of dirt on the floor, where it had fallen off of the both of us. Next to the window, a small book lay on the sill. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. It had a red satin-y cover, with the title embroidered in with bold silver: _'The Horse and His Boy'. _I haven't read it before, but the name seemed familiar. It seemed to be done by soem foreign author. I open the book, flipping through its yellowed, rough pages. I found James' bookmark rather earlier on in the book, and somehow, that made crack a smile. Seemed the boy was a slow reader.

I shut the book. Perhaps I would stay with this boy a little bit longer. Perhaps if I erased memories, I could ease his pain a little bit... No. He had a right to his own life. I would only take the rough bits; the bits he was better off not remembering. Perhaps when he was much older, he would start to remember bits of them here and there. But those memories would become mine. I would have to live with them, for however long I was forced to stay in this world. I swallow dryly. That could be anything between another ten years to another thousand.

I make him forget anyway.

* * *

Davide was asleep when I snuck into his room later that night. It was far past his bed time, and the three other weasels he shared room with were already sleeping like the dead. Wrapping myself in illusion, I walked over to his bed. The little one was curled into a ball, with the blanket wrapped tightly around himself. He was small for his age; perhaps too small. His hair was unruly and it fell over his forehead in a tousled mess, It was far too pale for someone born so far south. Looking closely enough, I could see tiny threads of orange filtering through, seen only by the moonlight. Perhaps that was just another thing he'd gained from his mother. Perhaps he was lucky to have her northern blood.

Silently, I leaned down, resting my forehead against his. The boy had a slight fever: an aftereffect of the spell I used before. Remembering all that pain in one go was not good for his health, it seemed. Illness would not do him well. Winter was coming, and he was summer-born. I whisper the spell softly into his ears. Little trickles of indigo mist float out of his open lips and into mine. A headache overcame me, and I nearly fell over. The process wasn't even close to over, and it already felt like my head was being split open with Norman war-hammer. Last time that happened to me... well, it wasn't a very pleasant experience.

I let go of him, stumbling backwards blindly. I clutched my head in pain and left the room as quickly as I could. So many thoughts filled my mind; memories I shouldn't have; memories that weren't mine. My legs took me outside, to the old comfort of the trees. I fall to my knees and throw up the remains of a non-existent supper. My throat ached and the taste of bile on my lips only made me feel all the sicker.

The wind rustled the branches above me, leaving me with a chill and a leaf in my hair. The small touch is enough to make me retch again. Acidic blood poured out of my mouth this lip, sizzling the grass it landed on and giving me a burning aftertaste. I try standing up, holding onto the rough bark of the tree so tightly it left splinters deep in my skin. My knees clanged together as I slowly tried to make my way back indoors. I looked up at the stars for a moment of comfort. There were so many of them, twinkling and shining above my head. The sky was black and cold behind them, but not as harsh as I used to think it. The moon, gray and pale with all its craters and holes, stood large and calm amongst the busy stars. I wonder how is must feel to lay my feet on it, like the American man had done just a year before.

I exhale quietly, my breath frosting in the air in front of me. I used to be scared of the sky, when I was little, so many years ago. Much after, the years after my curse, I used to think the stars would mock me. I was so full of rage back then. Now? Now the stars were my companions, the only constant of my ever-changing lives. A hope, when times were unfortunate; a prayer, when the moon turned its back and left the world in darkness. It would be a long night.

At least I hoped it would.

* * *

**If you're wondering why Rohan sounds like an old fag, well, you'll find out later. It is actually devasting to remember that I have so much of this story left to write. I bet it'll take at least another year, I'm not even joking. Probably more with the rate I update at (though hopefully that will change). If you have questions about anything, please leave me a review! Whether I answer your questions or not, you will get a reply. And if you don't have any questions... Review anyway ;)**


	11. Chapter 10

**Hello. I'm sorry I've been away for so long. I've had a personal crisis recently, but I'd like to think that I'm fine now. Any inquiries to the subject will be ignored.  
In this chapter, I'm going to address a very sensitive topic. If you do not appreciate gore or violence, please do not read. Also, a psychological warning. A short summary of this chapter will be included at the beginning of the next.**

**It is also important that you read the authors note at the end.  
**

* * *

Quickly he walked through the hallway, fixing up his tie. The famiglia may be in mourning, but there were far more urgent manners to attend to. A bout of nervousness welled in his throat and he swallowed it down. He stopped in front of the doors, taking a deep breath. Shutting his eyes, he thought over what he was going to say. When he opened them again, they were fixed in a perpetual glare. He turn to the guard by the door, who was unlocking it with a key. He wished he could see his eyes. The 'Antonio' printed on his chest was useless. There were a hundred other Antonio's in the army.

"How is the prisoner faring?"

"He got through the water torture fine, sir. However the report given by the Weasel says that his current mental state isn't at its best. They put him through approximately another two hours being in a crocodile tube with low heat underneath..." His voice trailed off as he shuddered at the memory.

Skull nodded, and gently put a hand on the guard shoulder. "Buy yourself a drink after your shift." He gave the man a small smile, one that seemed to ease the other man, if only a bit. The crocodile tube wasn't his order, but considering who the prisoner was, it was only natural that the entire family would bear a hatred for him. Not that he'd let Weasel go so easily. But that something to be dealt with later.

"They also put him in a pillory and tossed vegetables at him."

Ah. That seemed very much like Weasel. He shook his head with a sigh, and opened the door, and entering. He heard the quiet click as the guard closed it behind him, and locked the door. Just as he had been ordered. He looked at the man, magnetic straps keeping him to his chair. This was _Skull's_ office, and the prisoner was sitting in front of _Skull's_ desk.

He didn't usually interrogate prisoners. That job was left for the Weasel, since there was no one in the famiglia who did it better than him. But he'd made a special request for the man to be kept alive and well, for _him_ to interrogate, after they'd already done so. Well, after what did and what he was part of, it was only natural that Skull himself would take the matter into his own hands. It was a very personal thing after all.

His clothes were torn and soiled, ripped in jagged, uneven cuts all over. His feet were badly burnt, the redness starting to swell up. Guess they chose not to treat him. Not like the bastard would live long enough anyway. His arms, which were tied to the chair, were cut in many places, and the blood had already dried on his fingers. His eyes; great hazel pools, stared at me. His pupils dilated as I stepped forward to my place behind my desk. I could hear his breathing become rough and jagged, compared to the calm steadiness it had been just seconds before. "Let me _go._" He rasped. There were bruise marks around his neck, snaking down to his collar bones. Ah. Perhaps Antonio forgot to mention a few other things.

He gave his 'captive' a warm smile, one that seemed to unsettle him even more. "So tell me friend, what is your name?"

The man stayed silent for a long, long moment. His eyes looked Skull up and down, taking in every detail. His hair, such a bright purple. So many piercings, shiny, shiny things that draped over the man - no the _boy's_ features handsomely. Was this the demon he'd stories about? They say he kills those he kisses. They say he was the only reason Carcassa survived the war twenty years ago. They say he was the one who Giancarlo Carcassa to death. They say they found him, draped over the man's throne, twirling a knife around his finger, covered in the blood of the dead body in front of him.

The man could barely make out the words, stumbling over every letter like a great stone in his path. "I do not deal with the devil."  
He gave the man a glare. His pride as a Rossini would not be given up so easily, regardless of whether it got him killed him or not.

Skull gave the man a smile. It was a wonder he was able to even form a sentence after all that. He knew Antonio would only give him the official report. The bloke's been in captivity for three days, God knows what else they did to him. And Skull hoped they had done plenty.

His hand snaked its ways to his desk drawer, pulling it open. He glanced inside through the corner of his eye. A small knife collection. Skull never was one to use weapons in a fight, but they were pretty things to look at it. And it was times likes these that he was glad he collected knives. His hand wandered over each, his eyes watching the other man stare in fear. Perhaps he'd toy with the man a little bit longer. He picked a knife, a long thin one, from the drawer. The pommel of the sword extended over the hilt, twirling into a tiny dragon, the flames from its nose extending forward to form the hand guard. He twirled the knife precariously from his finger, looking rather bored.

He sigh dramatically and looked to the man. The report had said his was Francesco. Well, poor old Francesco looked like he'd shit his pants any minute now. Not that he'd been fed anything to shit out anyway. "Do you think this one is sharp enough? No? Alrighty then!"

Skull gave him his biggest grin and laid the knife at the end of the desk. He reached down into the drawer and pulled out another one. It was a short throwing knife. The hilt was wrapped in tanned leather, and the metal shone as turned it. It was shaped like a mini scimitar, but with a serrated edge. It was more for show than for practicality, but it got the job well enough. He sat that one down next to the first knife, all in view of Francesco, who was squirming uncomfortably in his seat. He looked to be foaming a little from the mouth. Poor thing.

Not.

He reach into the drawer and picked out a third knife. Ah, this one was his favorite. It was a kukri knife. Well, it was more of a dagger than a knife. The scabbard was black leather, covered with silver clasps and details. He pulled it off, revealing the beauty beneath. The hilt of the knife was pure silver as well. There was no cross guard, and that made it all the more dangerous, for the people on both sides of the dagger. The blade itself was engraved with beautiful lines and dots. Slowly he rested both the scabbard and dagger next to the other two knives, setting them all out on display for his dear friend Francesco.

He smiled, all diplomatic. "Now tell me dear friend, who one was it that led your little escapade?"  
'Escapade' was not the proper word. They'd managed to capture a gigantic cargo ship loaded with the best opium the world had to offer, managing to kill fifty unarmed men with 15 armed ones, and sniping one the greatest men alive was certainly not something that would be classified as an escapade. It was perhaps, the greatest insult to the Carcassa ever attempted. Other than of course, making Giancarlo first born.

The Weasel had already gotten out all the information from the man that they needed. But Skull would do this anyway.  
It was fun.

The man held his tongue, squirming against his restraints. Skull sighed. He reached forward and took the second knife, standing up and making his way in front of the way. He smiled and leaned down, gently cutting away at the man's shirt with the knife. Francesco's breath stopped every so often, when the tip of the knife grazed his skin. When his works was done, Skull set the knife down on his desk. He looked over the scars and burns on the man's chest, some still fresh and raw. The man was sobbing now and that just made Skull smile all the wider. The picked up the first knife, the long, thing dragon hilted one, and poked the man gently with it. A tiny trickle of blood flowed out from above his belly button.

"I've told them everything, please!" He was shaking the chair, trying to get out, but the restraints were too strong. Skull ignored his pleas and drew the knife up to his nipple, circling slowly, spiraling into to a point. He pulled the knife away and did it again, circling the other nipple as well, still the design imprinted on the man's chest was symmetrical.

The design was something his brother had taught him. Well not taught. But something he'd found in his brother's books. The design was nowhere near complete though. He smiled up at the and continued, starting again from the center point, drawing a long straight line that reached to the hollow between his collar bones. From there, the carved a diamond shape, long and thin. A circle, going over his shoulders and behind his neck, low enough to keep the man alive. On and on he went, drawing lines and dots over the man's torso. And when he had done that, he ripped off the other's sleeves and continued, on and on until the blood was dripping down his wrists. The man was fading into sleep, the pain already numb after so long.

Skull didn't like the thought of that. He picked up the second knife and slapped the man with the flat end, waking him abruptly. "I'm not done with you yet."

The man looked up at Skull, all the steel gone from his eyes. "How..."  
His voice was weak, rasping. He thought of the words, but his mind was leaving him. "How... you are so young..."  
They say that Skull lived forever, and ever. That he had fought his way into his place for the Cloud Arcobaleno.

Skull smiled and sat down on the man's lap, leaning in very close, as his hand sneaked to the desk for the third knife. The knife that resembled the man's skin ever so much. He leaned forward and touched his lips against the man's ever so slightly, tasting the blood that wasn't there. "Let me tell you a secret, dear friend."  
He leaned into the man's ear, his voice nothing but a whisper. His knife hand reached up, caressing the man's throat with cold, cold metal. He turned it, so the sharp end touched the skin it wanted to much. "I'm fourty nine."

And then the blood spilled.

* * *

**All of you seem to be forgetting something. You're all under the impression that Skull is weak. Or perhaps you think Skull is a great warrior, brave and tall and just. **

**He is neither.  
**

**He is a mafiosi. And what do mafiosi do, if not kill?  
**

**Please review. Next chapter will not be posted for some time, due to a hiatus.  
**


	12. Chapter 11

**Have I ever mentioned how much I love writing gore.  
Previous Chapter summary: Skull 'interrogates' the sniper that killed Stephano Cizeta. Said sniper dies. Painfully. **

**I miss writing Flashback chapters.  
**

**Some things may sound a bit strange, or prejudiced, but that's because this is taking place in 1974. Just this chapter.****  
**

**THIS WAS A BITCH TO WRITE UGH.  
**

* * *

Davide was jumping up and down in excitement, his hair was flopping all over his eyes. He'd been refusing to get a haircut these past months, because he decided he wants to grow it out like Rohan. But his hair was too shaggy because he didn't comb it enough. Rohan smiled and put a hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him calm. The ten-year-old had far too much energy for a boy his age. Mrs. Ahlquist had given up trying to contain it long ago, and had even let him pierce his ears with all the other girls.

Rohan had thought it strange. Boys didn't get piercings. Perhaps Skull was, dare he say it, _gay. _But the boy was only ten, for Chirst's sake! It was absurd in every way and form, but who was he to stop it all? Humans would always change their ways, for the better or worse.

Some of the other children walked by and gave them looks, but who were they? Nobodies, thats who. They didn't matter to Rohan.  
His stomach curled in on itself in a strange form of nervousness. He hated using that name. Rohan. It wasn't his name. Maybe he was born with it in this life, but he was not Rohan. He flopped down on the grass, trying to think of other, more pleasant things.  
But he could still hear the chimes. Once every two minutes. A soft chime, like the wind blowing through metal pipes. It's been happening for so long. For almost his whole existence, they chimes would every day, once, maybe twice, blowing through his mind like a dense, poisonous fog.

He'd heard things like that outside of his mind. Real wind chimes, hung beneath the branches of trees, beneath leaves ever red and green. But these were different. He was the only one that could hear them. They were his chimes, and when they rang, his thoughts stopped and all he could think of was the sound. The dreaded sound.

And it came again, now. It was a short sound, not more than a few seconds. But it was ripping him open inside. Taking his soul and throwing it in the air. And his heart would feel as if it turned to stone, and he wouldn't, he couldn't, breathe until the chimes had stopped.

Davide sat down beside him, a cautious look on his face. He didn't know what it was. But every so often the light would go out of his eyes. It was hard to tell though. Rohan told him that his spectacles were special. They made his eyes look blue when he put them on.

But his eyes weren't even blue at all. Though no one but Davide knew that. And thats only because Rohan was his older brother. And now his brother smiled and patted his head gently. "When do you think Papa will come?" He spoke softly in Italian.  
Davide shrugged. "I just hope he comes soon."  
Sometimes Papa would come a bit late, but Davide didn't mind. He'd wait all day if he had to.

Rohan had been wary of of Stephano, just he had been of him. But they'd dropped it. Neither was doing the other harm, and as far as Rohan saw it, if Davide liked Stephano, the man couldn't be that bad. The teenager had noticed, as of late, he'd grown very fond of the child. He was far too lovable and trusting, but the boy was special, in his own kind of way. Maybe it was because he saw a little bit of himself in Davide. Maybe not.

He fell back against the grass, looking at the pale blue sky above. The summer was so short here, but so much more beautiful. Davide fell down beside him, his head resting on the Rohan's shoulder. The quiet hum of the breeze and the grass swaying beneath his temples slowed down his thoughts. He couldn't tell if it was hours or minutes that passed by; the silent, ever-crawling of the clouds in front of his lowered eyes were the only indication.

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was a darker, the clouds pale against their new background. It looked to be late afternoon, Rohan decided. He shook Davide, and when that didn't wake the boy, he pushed him off his shoulder onto the hard ground. His arm had turned numb from the weight he realized, as Davide cried out in shock. He let himself a small grin, as Davide shook the grass out of his hair and gave him a glare and a pout.

A familiar sound came, and he turned his head, half expecting the chimes to start again. Instead, Ihe heard the rumbling of an engine, as a sleek black car stopped in front of the road. Davide jumped up, and ran towards it, hugging Mr. Stephano the moment he stepped out. He'd never grown out of the habit of calling him 'papa', despite his age. He was turning twelve in a month, for Christ's sake. But Stephano hugged the boy back with a grin on his face, just as he had done many times before. Stephano spun the boy around a bit, before putting him down and opening the door to the passenger seat; something he's never done before. Stephano always came alone.

Rohan stood up abruptly, interested by the sudden difference. He approached the two as the man opened the door, revealing an elderly lady stepping out of the car, with the help of Stephano and her wooden cane. She had a kind, wrinkled face of sorts, with a soft smile that made his heart feel a bit warm. Her gray hair had turned to a soft white, surrounding her face in short homely, curls. Rohan felt like he'd seen her before, and it took him a moment to recognize the woman as _James_' grandmother. The boy himself had gone silent, hugging the sweet woman with a grip that took the breathe out of her. She chuckled and hugged him back as best as she could.

Despite, him taking away most of James' memories, the boy would still remember his grandmother. She was kind to him, as she had always been, and that was a memory that the boy had kept for himself. It was a tearful reunion, needless to say. It was a happy one.

* * *

Signing the adoption forms had been quick enough. Davide was bouncing up and down with joy, oblivious to the jealous stares of the other children. Most weren't lucky enough to be adopted. Rohan almost pitied them, but he'd lived too long to care about the woes of a few children.

Mr. Cizeta and Margaret stepped out of the office with Mrs. Ahlquist. Somehow Davide had convinced them all of Rohan being adopted as well. It was a decision that had shocked everyone, himself included. Stephano had been very hesitant of it, though he hid it well. Rohan wasn't surprised to know that the man still didn't trust him. He didn't trust the mysterious man either. It was simple enough to figure out he was a mafiosi within the first few months. It would have happened sooner if he had visited more often.

Later, while Margaret hadgone upstairs to help Davide pack all his things, with the help of some older boys, Mr. Stephano pulled me aside. His hand was strong on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. The man would not touch me.  
His narrowed as he spoke. "I'm sure you know how I feel about this, _Rohan_."

Somehow the man had figured that it wasn't my real name. As much as he disliked the man, he couldn't deny that he was wise beyond his years. He'd live long, he decided silently.  
"Oh, I do. And, if you mind me asking, why so?"  
I replied back in Italian. It would be better to speak like this, so no others would understand what he was saying. I continued. "I have no intention of harming the boy or his grandmother. And I don't intend to bother myself with affairs that could get me killed much before I'd like."

Stephano still wasn't convinced. "I don't trust a man I don't know. There is still time to tear your contract, so I do hope you'll explain."  
That kept Rohan silent for a moment. Nice as the place was, he didn't like the idea of spending another two years here, before being thrown out into the world, regardless of how many times he'd already experienced it. There were none who knew who he was. Those who had known had passed away in his last life. There were none who knew in this life of his tale. None, except James. It had been a hard concept for the boy to understand, but he was able to figure out that Rohan was never able to truly die, but always to be reborn.

He took a step back. "Do not pry in what is not yours to learn." He glared.  
Stephano almost smiled. He'd been expecting such an answer. "I'll just go rip up the contract now then."

Rohan didn't know such a thing was possible (though he would later find out it wasn't). He panicked, though he didn't know why. He never panicked, not anymore. Not even in the familiar face of death.  
He grabbed Stephano's arm to stop the man from moving any further. "I'll tell, I'll tell!"

The man smiled as he removed himself from Rohan's grip. "Perhaps we should take this outside."

* * *

The walk had been silent and filled with tension. Rohan sweated nervously, despite the cool evening breeze and the ever darkening sky above his eyes. How should he start, where should he start? There really was no escaping all this. Killing Stephano would be an option, but having the man mysteriously disappear would cause an uproar. Using magic to make it seem like he'd never existed in the first place... that was far too dangerous. It would use too much energy, so much so that it would his own life in danger.

Stephano broke his line of thoughts with a question. "So, tell me, first of all, what is your real name?"  
The man wasn't much for bullshit, they both knew, and he often cut right to the chase. _Rohan _swallowed nervously, averting his eyes. There was no escape. None.

"Ein."

Stephano nodded, stowing away that little tidbit of information. "And who are you, Ein?" He asked quietly.

There were two many answers to that question. Too many, too many. Ein, was his first name, his only name. But yet, there were so many other, too many others. Too many, too many. He could all of the lives he'd lived, yet the lines would sometimes blur, it would overwhelm him. He'd lived too many lives. Too many, too many.

The man put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down."  
Ein looked back at the man. He had a quietness about him, one that seemed to let him think easier. He was having a panic attack he realized. Damn this body and its weakness. His last one had been so powerful compared to this one.

With his head cleared, he started, weaving a tale of magic and old, powerful things, things now gone from the world.

It was his tale.

* * *

He was old, older than most. All his brothers had died years ago, and yet here he was, nearly 70 years old and tired of the world.

And alone. His wife, his children, they had all died years ago. There had been rumors of a prophet, some man who had denied their own God. But he was dead now, staked to a cross for the world to see. Ein had believed in him once, but it had all gone to hell when the man died. What God would kill his own prophet? On and on, his thoughts drifted. He moved away, to an abandoned village. He would die here, alone and away from everyone. His mind had gone to rot, like his body should have a long time ago.

He stepped outside, pulling his robes together closely. The sun would set soon, and it had turned the sky to a magnificent orange. The sand reflected the light too brightly, and it nearly blinded him. He knelt down and scooped a hand full of sand, and watched as it slipped through his fingers. He retreated back into his home. He turned around and looked at the diagram he'd made. The floor of the home had been painstakingly carved into a diagram, full of circles and lines and all sorts of things.

He'd learnt that using magic, unlike illusions, needed energy. And that energy came from his life. His soul.

He'd spent years studying this. And now his work would be complete.

* * *

He died because of his mistake. And yet, he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes, he was a babe at arms, new and pink and fresh. He could barely see through his eyes, but he saw a woman smiling and crying as she saw him.

And somehow he knew. He knew about what he'd done. He knew how many lives he would have to live before death took his soul. He knew that this was the 'eternal' punishment for what he'd done. And he hated himself.

* * *

**I have purposely chosen not to explain things. Because what's happened doesn't matter. What Rohan, or perhaps, I should call him, Ein, did, really doesn't matter. It was years ago, too many years ago. Most people would think the prospect of living many times wonderful. But it would be horrible wouldn't, waking up to a new life, knowing that everyone you love is DEAD? **

**Anywho, Rohan isn't an angsty character, nor is he one to dwell on the past. This chapter was about him.**

**I have a lot I want to rant about here, but I don't suppose any of you want to hear that. **

**Reviews are wonderful :)  
**


	13. Chapter 12

**For those of you who don't know, Marakesh is in Morocco.**

**And thus, we move onto our main plot.  
**

**I was going to delay this a few more days, but in honor of KHR's recent ending, I posted this. Please follow my tumblr for more updates. My url is on my profile page.  
**

* * *

Gervasio had escaped to the south, near Marakesh. taking nothing but the clothes on his back. It had caused an uproar; no matter how much grief the man faced, he was the leader of the Carcassa. And he was avoiding that role. Things like this didn't happen. Gervasio was known for his kind and just leadership, for his love and punishment, for his steady grip over his life.  
He was taking this a lot worse than I'd expected. Stephano had been the only father we'd ever truly known. Though I suppose I should have expected this to happen: he had always been a crybaby as a child. The littlest thing made him break down into a fit of tears.

As his right-hand man, the whole damn family expected me to take care of this issue. At the very least, to rule over the family while he was gone. New Years had come and past, and Gervasio has been missing for three days. I cursed the bastard under my breathe as I stepped out into the chill weather. It was fucking blizzard out here. Having a base at the top of the Apennine mountain range was the stupidest idea ever had. Damn these Carcassa and their icy blood. I'm a hundred percent sure Gervasio is a bastard of sorts. He sticks out like a sore thumb in this weather, with all his layers of fur and coat.

I walk up briskly to the car, not even waiting for the driver to open the door. I settle myself in quickly as Vittorio settles himself beside me. "Drive." I spit out the words with venom, glaring into the back of a leather seat heatedly. The driver's starts the car, and we are moving. Taking the mountain pass was scenic, filled with trees and a few villages near the bottom. Snow capped peaks and pale clouds were the scene all around, but I had eyes for none of them. I go over the plan in my mind over and over.

Get Rakshata. Get to the base. Prepare assassins. Take out the bigshots. Attack.

There was only one problem: Carcassa doesn't have assassins. Sure, we've got our share of ruthless killers, but we are an army, tied in unison. We would have to hire from outside. At least fourty-three, if the Rossini headcount of potential heirs was anything to go by. Motherfucking Paulo had too many fucking relatives. I winced at the thought of a good many of them being children. But what must be done, must be done.

Reborn would be a good candidate. He was the perfect hitman, and the Rossini was a pain in the ass for far too many families. He'd do it gladly. But he couldn't be in 43 places at once. It all had to take place in one night, or else their careful plans would go to hell. A few other names came to mind: the poison scorpian, the cobra, the vixen. But getting all these people in would be a pain in the ass, and guaranteeing their safety was another concern. And I was sure the poison scorpian against the milk maid, something about reminding her of an old flame... This was far too tedious. I'd need an informant for this.

Of course, there only was one informant I _could_ go to anyway. The dratted bitch had too many faces and not a damn soul knew which one was her.

The Arachnid's Web.

When one wanted to see an informant, they simply called. They were given a location. They met up with the informant. They left.  
Problem was, the informant was different every time. Of course, there were a few people how would show up a few times, but generally the rest never made more than one appearance. Whoever controlled the web was a genius, with every mafiosi's lives in wrapped around their finger.

I had a particular favorite. A young woman, someone I'd met on many occasions. She maybe 24, 25, with kind eyes and pink lips that were begging to be tugged at and played with. She had smooth, tanned skin, and her hair was covered by a perfectly folded hijab. On many occasions I'd asked a few more personal questions, and she'd expertly avoided every one of them. All the other hosts did as well.

"Skull?" He had a curious look in his eyes, and for once, he looked like the boy that would spend hours, cooped up in his room, reading books no one had ever heard of.

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Yes, Vitti? I was planning on meeting the spider. Would you mind getting Rakshata to the base? I'll meet you up later."

He grumbled something under his base, but didn't show any resistance. I waited patiently, remembering the instructions._ Stop at the corner. Descend. _It took ten minutes to the get to the corner, where we turned into a tunnel pass. I stopped the car and stepped out into the cold breeze, the wind whipping my hair wildly behind my ears. I watched the car drive on, until it disappeared into the dark of the tunnel. I turned and walked down the footpath, holding onto the broken wood railing for support. These mountains were far too steep for comfort.

After thirty minutes of falling down scenic bushes and jagged rocks, I fall on a ledge, one barely large enough for a cottage and a road that led off to God knows where. This must be the place, I decided. The snow had started falling again, and it was getting quite heavy. I had a small pile growing on each of my shoulders, and I didn't intend make it any larger. I walked up to the cottage briskly, making my own path through the heavy snow. I made my way to cottage steadily, not even bothering to knock, before barging in.

I shut the door behind me quickly, releasing a breathe I didn't even know I was holding.

Its warm and toasty inside. I look up to see a young man standing by the fire place, tending it with a quiet smile on his face. I'd seen him before, maybe a few years back. It looked like he was one that stayed. He'd left his coat and scarf on an old dusty armchair. He seemed plain enough, with soft brown hair that grew too long over his shoulders. Using a hair tie in this weather would be an invitation for freezing off the back of your neck. He turned to face me, his smile growing. "Hello."

He spoke English. He had an American accent, and from what I had heard of it, it sounded like that of a New Yorker. You could never be sure with Americans. I nodded a greeting, unwrapping my scarf and coat tossing them on sofa, closely followed by myself. I yawn freely, sprawling my limbs all over the sofa. "Can we start?"

I hear him let out a low chuckle, and he sits down across from me, a note pad in hand, pen twirling in his fingers.  
"Where would you like to?"

* * *

What I had been expecting to be a short meeting lasted for five hours. The blizzard outside had gotten much worse. The fire was blazing though, and there was enough food to last the informant for a few days. Perhaps he'd expected to stay that long. He was told the blizzard would clear up in a few hours - I'd leave as soon as it was gone.

I paced the room, my hands fumbling over themselves. I was growing anxious. The storm wouldn't seem to let up any time soon, and I'd spent thrice as much as my budget allowed, leaving far too many zeros for my liking on the price tag. Usually, you could offer information to make the price go down, but I had none to give that they didn't already know. The tricky bastards knew everything, yet asked for more. I glanced at him as I walked past. He sipped quietly at a cup of coffee, reading a book.

I cry out in frustration, and he looks at me curiously. "Something wrong?"  
He spoke like he had all the time in the world, a casual drawl slipping in. I glared and pace faster around the room, keeping my eyes on the windows, watching for any chance of the storm letting up. "I should be gone."

Being stuck in a room with this man was driving me insane. He knew everything, what if he knew about me? The urge to just _ask_ him was growing stronger every second. I could have ask anything, he'd have an answer. I could ask him about the spider, about who they were, about what they did, what kind of person they were perceived as. I hear him laugh, and turn around.

Rohan had taught me to look at people. To look at their eyes and the way they smiled, the way talked, to notice them. To notice them, and the words they spoke, the deeds they did. And this man, who ever he was, had the brightest eyes and he laughed like an old man, with snorts and chortles and tears pricking his eyes. He put down his cup on the table, because he would have dropped it otherwise. I pout, angered almost, that he would laugh me. I hadn't done anything, yet there he was, laughing like there was no tomorrow.

"Whats so funny?" I ask, hoping for a good reason at the very least.

He ignores the question. "Why don't you sit down? We're going to be stuck here for a while and I'd rather not have you passing out on the floor from fatigue."  
He rolled his eyes, and even though he asked, it more of a command. I glare, but sit down with 'hmph'.

He stood up, picking up his cup of tea. I sat with my arms folded across my chest, patiently (impatiently) waiting for him to get his ass back here. When he does, he sits next to me with a smile. "Let me tell you a story Skull."

I looked at him strangely. A story? How old did he think I was?

"It's yours."


	14. Chapter 13

**I think I might be going through another depression period.  
**

* * *

**1974. Late September.**

Margaret had many blueberry bushes. She had lots of rose bushes as well. They were all well tended, but the ones that went farther back grew more unruly, sprawling unevenly over the grass. James cried when he came here. He just sat on the grass and cried. I pulled up a deck chair so Margaret could sit on while she consoled him. She was an old woman after all, and James liked to cry for very long times. I watched them with a smile on my face. James hiccuped and clutched at his grandmother's skirt tightly; she, laughing gently and running her fingers through his hair.

Stephano came to stand beside me, speaking softly, the look on his face calmer than I'd ever seen him. "I won't be able to visit as much any more. Maybe never again."  
I turned to look at him curiously. "What happened?"  
He sighed and looked away from the happy sight. "There's a war coming. Maybe not this year, but it's coming."  
He walked away and didn't look back.

* * *

James had fit in quite quickly. He'd gone to school like normal children. I was too old for school now. I was learning medicine from the small clinic in the town. It was far too tempting to correct the doctors whenever they did anything wrong, but I held back. I would live this life normally. I would stay with James and Margaret and live a quiet happy life in a tiny town, down south in Ireland.

James came home with bruises on his wrists and neck. On bad days, it would be a black eye. I'd treat it as well as I could, and when that didn't work, I'd use some of the concealing cream around his eye. It got to the point where I had to keep a small stash of it in my bedside drawer. Margaret's eyes were too bad to notice the oddness on his skin.

* * *

**1975. Early April.  
**

I was stirring oatmeal one morning, for breakfast, when James came into the kitchen. He tie was crumpled and his shirt buttons weren't done properly. I sigh, and set the bowl in front of him as he dropped his bag down on the ground beside the table and sat down to eat. I absentmindedly fixed his clothing as he ate, turning him at odd angles to fix his shirt. He glared at me and struggled against me, spewing unrecognizable words from a mouth full of oatmeal. I flick his forehead. "Don't talk with your mouth full."  
He glares and eats his food at a sickeningly fast pace. Children.

I stand behind him and comb his unruly hair down with my finger. He would need a trim soon, I mused to myself silently. He wouldn't take well to that. I noticed the tiny gold studs in his ears. Margaret hadn't said a word when she'd seen them, but they might be the reason the bruises came home with him. I frowned and took them off. He turned his head up to look at me, his eyes filled with curiosity. "What are you doing?"  
I meant arrogance.

"You're not wearing these to school anymore."  
I put the jewelry in my pocket and he glares. "But then my piercings will close up!"  
I roll my eyes and pat his head, "Then just put them on again in the afternoon."

And with that, I take the bowl of half eaten porridge from in front him and send him out the door with a napkin to wipe up the trail dribbling down his chin. I take a tea towel and wipe up the spilled oatmeal from the table. I finish the porridge and set to washing them. I stare out of the window absentmindedly. The trees were starting to shed their leaves and and turn yellow. I smiled, though I don't know why.

I dry my hands and go to see Margaret. I knock on her door lightly, and when there is no answer, I step inside. She was still sleeping. I walk quietly to the window and draw the curtains open. The sunlight streams into the the dark room, and I can see the dust float through the air hazily. I walk to the bed and shake her arm gently. "Margaret, it's time to wake up."  
My accent was thick in this language. Teaching myself to relearn a language always was a strange experience.

She shifts uneasily and her eyes open and she smiles. "Oh, good morning Rohan."  
I return the gesture, and help her out of bed. "Good morning Margaret."

I leave the room as she dresses herself properly. I step back into the kitchen, and heat up the pot of porridge the second time this morning.  
A knocking at the door snaps me out of my reverie. I turn off the heat and walk to the door. I open, to be greeted by a familiar face. She has sandy hair, tied back in a loose bun, with strands slipping out every time she turned her head. Her eyes were shifty, displaying unease as they stared deeply into everything, never resting on a single moment for longer then a second. She wears plain clothes, brown and a little frayed at the hems. She carries a book bag at hand.

She coughs into her handkerchief. I shut the door. She is not welcome here.

She knocks again, more frantically and louder than before. I glare and open the door again. "You have no place here."  
I cast the illusion of darkness, of the sun dying and casting the world in blood red. She is not fazed. "Let me in. I can't have anyone see me." And she pushes past me without a thought and shuts the door. I hadn't expecting her to immune to illusions, regardless of whether it was a such a low level one.

She dumps her bag next to the table and spoons herself a bowl of porridge and pours some cream on top.  
She really is his mother after all.

Margaret comes into the room at this point. She gives a squeal of delight, and gives her daughter a hug, one that Shirley is very slow to return.  
When was the last time she held another human in her arms?

I leave. Being in the same room with this woman makes me sick. I come twenty minutes early for my class, but I no longer care.

As I shut the door, I hear a rough cough escape her lips. It is sickly.

* * *

When I come home, there are three people sitting around the table. I silently take the fourth seat. Shirley stands up and gets me a plate of food. She is wearing the same clothes as before.

James looks up at his mother with innocent, pure curiosity, watching her every move. His eyes were as wide as dish plates, and yet, they only seemed to get wider every time she moved. Children.  
Shirley doesn't speak to me; but barely nods a greeting, coughing into her handkerchief.  
Margaret is unaware of the tension in the room. Bless her, the sweet old lady.  
She talks about rose bushes and blueberries, and every story that comes to mind. Shirley listens to it all, nodding and smiling when she needs to. She does not look very interested in any of it.

Something doesn't seen right about this picture, not including the fact that there is woman that doesn't belong. My eyes shifts over all of them, before finally setting on James.

He usually has bruises when he comes home.

There are none today.

* * *

James has been put to bed. Margaret has dozed off in front of the fire, an open book in her hands.

I let out a shaky breathe as I step out into the cold night air. The stars above my head shine without a care in the world. I turn my head up to them and shut my eyes. The light is soft and I can feel it on my skin. It feels good.

She coughs. "How old are you?"

I open my eyes and inhale softly and reach down to pick a blueberry. "18." I eat it.

Shirley walks to stand in front me. She _demanded _my attention, and seemed very intent on getting it. Had the circumstances been different, I would have taken a fancy to her. She certainly was beautiful.

The look on her face was exasperated, tired, frustrated. Her eyes spoke more words than her lips ever could. "Why doesn't my son remember me?"  
I narrow my eyes. "And when have you ever treated him like a son?"  
She glares. "I am his mother and I have every right to insist that you tell me, **why did James not recognize me?**"

I roll my eyes. "Sharing his blood doesn't entitle you to his love. You earn it."  
I pick a blueberry and offer it to her. She tosses it away. I smile. "Besides. Its better if he forgets. He wouldn't have been able to handle it other wise."

I turn to face her completely, my smile dropping. "Have you told your mother your illness yet?"

Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops. A sheen of sweat is visible on her forehead in the moonlight. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"The cold shivers, the fever. The fatigue, your cough, the lack of appetite. You're sick."  
I've been studying medicine for lifetimes. Its hard not to notice.  
It makes sense though. Her case was quite severe, and getting treatment didn't seem an option.  
It makes sense, that she would want to spend her last years with the son she never loved.

* * *

The next morning, Shirley makes sweet bread and poached eggs.

James kisses her cheek before he leaves.

* * *

**1975. Late December.  
**

Stephano has come to visit this year, for Christmas. He bought James a watch, and a pretty necklace for Margaret. He'd brought me a book of medicine from England, filled with modern research and notes.  
He was a wonderful man when he tried.

He hadn't been expecting Shirley. In fact, his first reaction was blushing and stuttering a greeting, taking his fedora off and holding it to his chest. We'd all laughed. It was true though, that Shirley had gotten more beautiful since the last time she'd been seen. Though something like was so out of character, it had James giggling for the whole night. Stephano had gotten his poker face back quite quickly, but not without the constant tinge of pink on his face every time he so much as looked in Shirley's direction.

Margaret had gone to bed quite early, soon followed by James.  
I worried for her. She was growing old, and quite frail. Her eye sight was growing worse, and she needed her help to walk between rooms. She was forgetting things. She called me Timothy thrice.

I put them both to sleep and placed small kisses on their foreheads.

Shirley and Stephano were both outside, sipping quietly at mulled wine. I brought my own glass and joined, getting a curious stare from the woman. I drank without answering. She did not need to know about me.  
Stephano speaks first.

"We're winning the war."  
Shirley looked at him curiously. "How fare's Giancarlo? The last I'd heard of him, he'd gotten shot in the leg by a sniper. Wonderful bodyguards, I must say."  
The man smiled. "Well, he got shot."

Shirley coughed into her hand, laughing a bit. Stephano took the time to explain to me, the kind man that he is. And from what he said, Giancarlo seemed a bit of a bastard. When I mentioned so, they both laughed. "We know that first hand!" The grins slipped onto their faces easily. The wine had calmed their nerves.

Stephano poured himself another glass, taking on a solemn look. "I fear for Giancarlo's life, damn it. He insists on fighting with his men, like killing himself off is going to win the war. His condition is just getting worse and worse and he's the one doing it to himself. Its almost like he wants to die. Regretting his entire life _now _is a stupid decision."

Shirley hums quietly in thought and watches the wine swirl in her glass. I speak up. "What about his heir, Peteruccio was it?"  
Stephano sighs. "Dead. Got shot in Marakesh, in the back of an alley. He was protecting one of his men, injured I take it. Neither of them made it."  
He puts down his glass and holds his head in his hands. "He was going to lead us all out of this war. He had such promise. I'm not surprises he went out the way that he did. His second son, Gervasio is heir now. The boy is barely eight, and frail. He has a kind heart, but he is too indecisive and doesn't show the qualities of a leader. If Giancarlo dies now, I'll have to lead the family for the next decade, at the least. And even then, family is doomed to be weak. We're winning this war, but we're losing everything else." His voice cracks.

I look up to my stars for comfort. Tonight, they are cold and dignified, speaking nothing. They don't shine their light on me.  
I finish my wine and go back inside. It is a bad night to be outside.

* * *

**1976. Early March. **

James is turning thirteen in less than half a year, yet he still insist on crawling into Shirley's bed when he has nightmares. He'd insisted on getting second piercings above the ones that he already has. Shirley has become a doting mother to him. She is strict and tells him off, but she helps with him with his arithmetic and teaches him how to ride a bicycle all the same. I'm a little bit jealous, I must admit. I was planning on teaching him that.  
When I learned how to myself, of course.

It is the morning of Margaret eighty-seventh birthday. We were planning on taking her to the seaside for the day. She would have liked it very much, I'm sure. I smile, and step into her room. I open the curtains, a grin on my face. The sun shines bright and beautiful today. I walk up to the bed and shake her arm gently. "Happy Birthday Margaret."

There is no response. I repeat myself. Perhaps she was still asleep. When I get no response, I put my hand in front of her nose. She is not breathing. My brows furrow and I pick up her wrist and take her pulse. There is none. I turn her onto her back and open her mouth, breathing into it. I push onto her chest.

Again.

Again.

Again.

There is no response. I stop. I lift her hand to my lips, and kiss her knuckles.  
She had been beautiful.

* * *

**1977. Late August. **

Shirley was bed ridden. James couldn't bear to leave her side. I grew worried for both of them. Shirley's health was deteriorating at a much quicker rate than ever before. James would not take it well if she died. He was a fragile boy, and his heart was weak. He would break to pieces.

Her room smells of death. I cannot bear it any longer. I step outside to the stars and scream at nothing. I remember six years spent with her that aren't even mine. I love the woman because she is as much my mother as she is James'. I look up to my beloved stars. It is summer and they shine brightly, so brightly. I wipe a tear from my eye and head back inside. It was almost time.

I walk into Shirley's room. She is sitting up, holding James close to her heart and running her fingers through his hair. He was crying rivers into her blouse, because he knew it too.

She looks up to me as I walk in, a tired smile on her lips. She has not been sleeping well these past nights. Her skin had grown pale and her lips bloody red. I can no longer tell if its because the blood is rushing to her head or escaping her lips in ugly coughs. Shirley was unbearably thin now. Her eyes were sunken in, and when I give her medical checks, I can run my fingers over her ribs. She can barely eat at all, and she refuses the medicines I offer her. It is like she wants to die.  
Maybe she does.

I take one look at James and tear him off of her. He yells and hits, but collapses against me, burying his head into my shoulder all the same. The boy was barely fourteen and he'd already seen so much more than any child should have to. I offer to take his memories for him, but he refuses every time. He has learned about all my powers now. He never asks for his childhood though. He does not want to remember the years where he didn't love his mother.

Shirley gives me a weak smile and mouths the words to me. 'Take care of him.'  
She closes her eyes, and I watch her lie down. A man enters the room. He is dressed finely in a black tuxedo, his curled hair hidden beneath a top hat. He has dark skin and black eyes, and it takes me a moment to recognize him since his appearance has changed since the last time I saw him. My old friend gives me a smile, before taking Shirley's hand and leading her out of her body. She holds his hand, young and beautiful. She has her health. Her golden hair runs downs her back like silk, and her eyes sparkle.

They are gone when I blink. James breaks apart from me, and I don't resist. He goes to his mother's side, holding her hand close to his chest, sobbing.  
She had been loved.

* * *

**I wrote a lot in this chapter, because I really need to get this story moving. Writing from Rohan's point of view is very calming, surprisingly, and much easier to write in then Skull's. But I promise that the next few chapter's will be his.  
**

**Please review! I really enjoy getting reviews, especially long ones. I'd like to get some feedback on this please. If you don't have anything critical to say, then just please tell me what you liked! Thank you all for following the story this far ^^  
**


	15. Chapter 14

**WARNING! Graphic description of murder. Don't try this at home kiddos.**

**Demon research is surprisingly interesting. I'm sure most of you have noticed, but the story I'm writing doesn't COMPLETELY follow KHR's. Just a notice, since some parts of this chapter may or may not contradict canon event. Its growing increasingly difficult to avoid OC's, because Skull is a character with minimal canon interaction, and not only that, half of this story doesn't even follow the same time line. I understand that many people don't like OC's being over-used (neither do I) but it is part of the story, so please bear with.  
**

* * *

I slam the door open, and run out, not caring for the blizzard raging around me. The snow fell on me in thick sheets, and the wind pushed me down into the snow-covered ground, cold and unwelcoming. I gasp for breath as I stare at the blood dripping into the snow, slipping from my hands like warm, red slop; not quite frozen, but blurred and ugly in the blinding whiteness.

I struggle to stand up, my vision splitting in two as I stared into storm raging all around me. I turned to look at the cottage, a bare few meters away, yet, distant and almost invisible in the furious storm. I swallowed. I would have no choice but to go back inside, to warmth of fire and blood on the floor.

I shivered.

* * *

_"Though finding information about Shirley was horrible. The woman was absolutely fantastic at covering her tracks."_

_He knows. HE KNOWS.  
_

_I can feel the bile rising to my throat, threatening to spill out a lunch I never had. I grab the tea cup and throw it at his face, steaming hot liquid and all. He screams, and falls out of chair, hands tearing at the boiling tea and broken glass in his eyes. His screams are loud, so loud, its deafening. I move quickly, getting on top of him.  
_

_His face is burning and sizzling, red and bubbling. Small, white shards of glass stick out in odd places, the circles beneath his eyes, his lips, his pupils. He looks like he's crying blood, hot and steaming and ugly, ugly red as it gushes down his face in fat streams. I reach out blindly and grab his pen off of the table and stab him under his chin with it. His screams stop, only blood, blood, blood escaping from his lips. I hear him choking and gasping, writhing and squirming beneath me. He drowns as his own blood fills his lungs.  
_

_I pull the pen out of him, the blood gushing out all over my hands. I drop the pen and hold up my fingers in front of me, the skin so pale and white in contrast the dark velvet of blood. I'm shaking.  
_

_I run._

* * *

Time seems to not move at all. Forcing my legs up against the thick snow was hard, and I felt like I was made of lead. I trudged through the snow, back to the cottage. I step inside, taking a deep breath. The blood on his face was still dark and red, but as it spread out over the carpet, I could see it starting to dry, just a bit. Had been that long? I convince myself that it's the cold air, nothing more.

I clench my fists and walk up to his corpse and kneel down, hesitantly reaching into his pockets. In his jacket, I find a small paper, folded and tucked away beneath fabric. I open it, and see a phone number, written in small, dainty hand writing. A woman's, perhaps.

When I find nothing else, I step away from him, ignoring the blood dripping from my hands. I wipe it on my pants and move on. He had to have some form of ID hidden around here somewhere. He's an informant, but perhaps not all the time.

I step over him and move to the couch, picking up each and every pillow, taking off their covers, rummaging through it till all I've got is a bunch of cotton lint beneath my nails. I sigh, and take a flick-blade from my belt. Safety first.  
I start tearing at the couch, pulling away the thin fabric that covered it all. When I find nothing, I step back and away from the remains of the piece of furniture. My brows furrow in frustration and kick it, the wooden base snapping beneath my foot. Perhaps 'pieces' of furniture would be more accurate.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. Calm, I need to stay calm. I had time, plenty of time. The blizzard was nowhere near close to letting up.

Damn it.

I scream in frustration, and kick aside the coffee table, the legs snapping beneath it as it fell on its side. I pick up a vase and threw it at the wall, the porcelain shattering and flying everywhere. I'm panting and breaking into cold sweat at this point, and I drop to my knees, clutching my head. What's going on, what's going on? I can feel my heart racing in my chest, feel it pounding, threatening to break out of my ribcage.

It feels like eternity before I can build up the will to stand up on shaky knees and walk back over the corpse. The blood on his face has dried to an ugly brown. Something shines, and I frown, kneeling down. His jaw lays open, and when I turn my head ever so slightly, I can see something shining inside. Taking a deep breath, I open his mouth, wincing as I hear his jaw break under the stress. I reach and pull out a tiny little bead, ugly orange in color, like rotting fruit. I stand up and raise the bead in front of my eyes, twisting and turning it so. There seemed nothing special about it, nothing at judging by the dirty color, it shouldn't have even been shining like was.

I look down, and the body isn't there.

"I'd like that back now, thank you."

I turn around, eyes widening.

He's standing up, perfectly healthy, like he hadn't just bled to death. I stare at him in shock, and he reaches for the bead, taking it back from me. He places it on the tip of his tongue and swallows, shutting his eyes and shivering. When he looks at me again, his eyes are a bright orange, like fire and flame. I try to back off, but he puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. "Oh don't be a fool. You're not going anywhere, not yet."

"K-kawahira?!"

He's changed, his face. His short hair falls over his shoulders in thin, grey locks, and he's shorter, just a bit. It had taken barely a second before I'd recognized the man as Kawahira, or as I better new him, Checker Face. His fingers trail up to my neck, and as he brushes against my skin, I can feel my heart racing, burning, threatening to rip from my chest.

"I was hoping you'd leave sooner, but you just had to go and look inside my mouth, didn't you? If' you'd wanted a kiss, you could have just asked."  
He smirks and I feel sick to my stomach.

"Wh-why're you here?!" I choke out, tears spilling from my eyes as the pain grows, grows and grows till I feel like dying right there.

He yawns. "I'm not inclined to say. Though I do like to check up with you every once in a while. Just to see how you're doing."

How I'm doing? My skin feels like its burning. The blood in my veins is pounding, thick and fast, and I can hear it, hear its echoing, screaming into my mind. His hand trails down to my heart, and I feel a jolt of pain, and I drop to my knees, clutching my chest. Blood, warm and red, spills from my lips in broken sobs. A scream rips from my throat. "Stop! Stop it!"  
All I can hear is the pounding of blood and the screaming of people that don't exist. "Stop, you're hurting me!"

He lets go of me and turns around, walking towards the door. He gives me a knowing smile, and I see a hawk on his arm, one that wasn't there before. It's talons are cutting into his arms, and blood drips to the floor in thin streams, but he doesn't seem to feel it at all.

"There's an escape route in the kitchen, if you're looking for one. This house will be gone once I'm out, so, do hurry."

He opens the door and I run to the kitchen, looking around frantically, ignoring the pain of everything, ignoring the angry tears streaming down my cheeks. I spot a small door, on the floor, next to the fridge. I run for it and shove it open, jumping in because I can already hear the fire kissing my ears.

I fall down, hitting the ground, and I'm sure as hell I've broken my ankle. There's an explosion up above me, and I scream, pieces of wood and metal falling down on me. I duck and crawl out of the way, barely dodging the cave in. The dust settles, and I open my eyes to complete and utter darkness. I reach up to touch my face and feel something wet. I touch it to my lips and frown. _Blood._

I struggle to get to feet, wincing as I try to ignore the pain in my ankle.

Questions are thrown into my mind from every angle, and I reach blindly for a wall to lean against, as the **pain** comes crashing down onto in one, giant sweep.

* * *

_Balam._ The name whispers into my mind, quiet, quick as the breeze.

Ein had written many things in his notebooks. I wrack my mind, trying to remember back._ Balam.  
_

_Balam._

One of The Great Kings of Hell.

I clutch my head and scream.

I can hear him laughing, laughing somewhere in the back of my head, I turn around, expecting to see him, but he's not there, no one's there. I turn around again, and see that torches have been lit, all down a long hallway in front of me. I have no choice but to walk. I can still hear him, laughing.  
The sound gets farther and farther away with each step, till I can't hear it all. It gets too quiet all too soon and I'm starting think that maybe the sound wasn't even there in the first place.

* * *

I stop in front of a door. It is wooden, and intricate, with carvings in languages I know of. Ein used to write like this, if I recall correctly.

I take a deep breathe and open the door, closing my eyes and stepping out.

When I open them again, I am in front of the main base. I turn around, but there is no door. I swallow nervously and turn back again, to look at the entrance. I'm inside the mountain, on the road that leads to the gate. It's a massive, metal thing, guarded heavily. It reaches up to the ceiling and to every wall, reaching thirty feet tall and twenty wide. I see guards ahead, taking their patrols. Bless their work-loving souls. Raises for all of them.

I take a step forward and they all turn around and point their guns at me. I furrow my brows in confusion. Couldn't they see me before?

I walk up to the one closest to me, and he freezes, recognizing my face. I smile. "Just let me through buddy."

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?!"

I wince. Vittorio is too loud and my head hurts just because of it. I loosen the tie around my neck, but he comes around and fixes it, tighter than before. "Do you know how worried I was? You've been gone for two days!"

I look at him strangely. Two days?  
_Kawahira._ He had more power than I expected. I sigh and shove Vitti away. "Where's Rakshata? I need to speak with her."

He glares at me. "In her office. And don't speak so casually about my mother, you nitwit."

I don't remember walking there. My mind is drifting, fleeting, and it hurts.

* * *

I settle myself down on a chair, sighing. Rakshata sips at her tea, humming quietly.  
I look at her, expecting an answer. She'd tied her hair up today, in a messy bun, black strands slipping loose and framing her face. The fire light danced across her dark skin, and it suited her. She was warmth and love and the only thing holding Gervasio together. I'm surprised she hadn't ran away with him.  
_Ran away._ I frown. I shouldn't be thinking like that.

She sets down her cup. "That's quite interesting. Though I don't suppose you've told anyone else yet, have you?"  
I roll my eyes and give her a half-hearted smile. "I'm not that dumb."

She laughs. "So how are you feeling?"  
I shut my eyes and rest my head back. "Well, for starters, like I got run over by a ten-wheeler whilst on the greatest hangover known to man. Has it really been two days? I'd say its been ten hours, tops. It feels more like six."  
If it had, it'd mean I meant Christmas. I think of Yuni, and the worry in her eyes. I push the thought away. I can't think of her now.  
I feel a hand on my forehead, and she tuts. "Well, you've got a fever, though it doesn't seem too bad, really. I'll take care of the preparations for the attack. You can go rest, Davide."

My eyes go wide open and I stand up. "What are you talking about? I'm not having you do my job for me."

She looks at me, strangely, almost like... pity. Sometimes I wish she didn't know who I was. She looks sad, sad just looking at me. "James,-" She says my name with pain in her voice, "you've just had a close encounter with a King of Hell. You're not doing anything till you get some sleep."

I open my mouth to protest against that, but she holds out her arms, and all I can I do is hug her and choke back a sob as she rubs circles into my back and shush me into a half sleep.

Sometimes I'm glad she knows.

* * *

I don't like this bed.

I toss and turn and move my pillow around, but I just _can't_ get comfortable. I wish I was home. As much as I loved my job, I wasn't doing it so I could sleep in a shit stuffed bed every time I spent the night at the base. I sit up and sigh. I wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight. I rub my head, just a little glad that the pain has calmed to an ache in the back of my head. I open my eyes and see a small child, sitting at the end of my bed. He holds a finger to his lips. "Shh."

I scramble back against the head rest. I stare at him, and take a heavy breathe. "Are you a demon?"

He nods and points at himself. "My name is Gusoyn. I'm actually a Duke."  
A Duke of Hell, appearing before me in the body of a chubby asian kid. Fun.

I swallow nervously. "What do you want from me?"  
His smile drops and he all most looks... hurt. I stop that thought before it can escalate any further. He is a demon. He knows nothing but death and how to deal it.  
"I just wanted to apologize for this afternoon. King Balam is good, but he is very insensitive to humans. He cannot really tell when you dislike something."

I frown. "Well, can you just... leave me alone? I'm not into holding grudges on demon kings anyway."  
He giggles and reaches forward, touching two fingers to my forehead. The ache is gone from my body, so cleanly, that it was almost like it was never there.  
"He might have left a mark on you. He does that sometimes."  
I look at him incredulously, narrowing my eyes. "Well, Gusoyn, you can't just be here to fix me up and apologize on behalf of a king. I was under the impression that demons don't question their rulers actions."

He sighs. "It's your brother, Ein."  
I sit up straighter.

"He's been looking for you recently. We usually take special precautions to make sure that he doesn't meet anyone from his past lives. Though he's... meddling."  
I look at him expectantly.

"The last time we took him to hell, which you know, happens every time he dies, he kind of... ruins things. He even hit Alastair in the face. He was sent up early because he was too much trouble. I believe he's on his 68th life now."  
His time with me was his sixtieth. My gut curls in on itself.  
Gusoyn pouts. "If you see him, can you call? I've been trying to look for him, but he's been hiding himself."

I stare at him in shock. "What."  
The child perks up and reaches forwards to clasp my hands in his. "Do not worry. You do not have to hurt him. Just say his name when you see him, and I'll be there right away."

Before I can reply, he's gone and I feel like throwing up.

* * *

**When I feel like my writing is turning to shit I just add unnecessary plot twists iM NOT SORRY.  
Also, I need a beta-reader! If anyone is interested, please send me a private message!  
**

**Reviews please :)  
**


	16. Hiatus Note

Hiatus Note. The author of this story has almost completely lost inspiration.

Will probably not be updated.

I will not keep your hopes up.


End file.
